


And I'll Give You the Throne

by worrisomeme



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Courtship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 10:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11988174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worrisomeme/pseuds/worrisomeme
Summary: Just then a man makes his way from the front of the shop. He’s gorgeous, even covered in soot or whatever that is, grimy and sweaty and Bucky wants nothing more than to tangle his fingers in that messy blond hair and kiss him senseless. His eyes snap to Bucky’s as he finally notices him and the blue of those eyes takes his breath away.“Hey!” he shouts and it’s instantly obvious that he doesn’t recognize the prince. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”“Sorry!” Bucky chuckles and flashes his most charming grin, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. The door was open and I just had to get away from my-““I don’t care how much you hate your wife or who-the-fuck-ever it is, get out of my-““Do you seriously not recognize me?” Bucky balks, shamelessly interrupting. Hey, he did it first and two can play at that game.“Should I?” the blond asks. And Bucky can’t help but laugh at that, long and loud as he shakes his head. The stranger scowls and narrows his eyes suspiciously and goes on, “Look, I don’t care who you are. You can’t be back here, so kindly fuck off please.”Bucky just laughs harder, hands going up again, and he knows instantly he’s in love.





	And I'll Give You the Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RHCarter (Rad_Loser_Weenie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rad_Loser_Weenie/gifts).



> Here's another one for the lovely, wonderful, and (I've said it before and I'll say it again) patient as a saint Romance!<3 Thank you sososo much for trusting me with yet another beautiful idea! I hope you love it and that everyone else loves it too!!<3 <3 <3

Bucky strolls between shops, blissfully (mostly) unnoticed in his ‘commoner’ clothes (as his dad puts it), his hair down and hanging just below his shoulders now. The number one gossip show is blaring from a row of TVs in a shop window and normally, really, he doesn’t pay attention to those stupid shows. He doesn’t care about what this week’s hot celebrities are up to, and half the time him or his family manages to make at least one of their stupid stories. Oh no, what catches his attention is precisely what the host – Velora – is saying.

“Did you notice?” she asks Ansel – her co-host, batting her lashes and playing coy.

Ansel smirks and plays right into her game. “Notice what?”

“Prince James at the gala last night,” she giggles. “He looked _awfully_ friendly with little Katie Bishop. She was hanging off his arm _all_ night!” And then pictures start flashing across the screen, him and Katie with their arms around each other, laughing in almost every one.

Bucky scrunches up his face in disgust. Katie’s family is rich and powerful, she grew up playing with Becca. She’s like a little sister to him. The fuckers.

Ansel’s grin widens as he leans back in his seat. “About time,” he scoffs. “Isn’t she a little young for him though?”

“Well, she _is_ legal,” Velora says innocently. She glances at the camera and says, “For our viewers that don’t know, she’s just barely 18,” then turns back to Ansel to ask, “Do you think they’re courting?”

“Sure looks like it to me,” he says with a nod. “She’d be a smart choice. And, I mean, the Prince did turn twenty-five this year. He’s kind of running out of time, isn’t he?”

Bucky’s glower deepens and he glances around, over his shoulders, checking for his guards and what kind of distance he’s got on them, what kind of lead he can get.

On the screen Velora giggles and bats at Ansel’s arm, saying, “Oh puh-lease, like anyone would turn down Prince James. Have you _seen_ him? He could wait ‘til he’s forty and some poor duke would get divorce papers before any girl would turn him down.”

Ansel snorts and holds his hands up in defense. “Well, I don’t know about all that. But if he doesn’t hurry up it’s definitely going to require a divorce on someone’s part to get him a wife worthy of his name and that crown. I mean, what’s he _waiting for_ anyway?”

And that’s the last thing Bucky hears because he grits his teeth and balls his fists, glancing around one last time before making a break for it. His guards cuss as they take after him, but he’s quicker and smaller and more agile, more nimble as he weaves his way through people and stands and down back alleys, between shops. It takes a couple quick turs, but eventually he spots an open back shop door and he is not about to let this opportunity pass him by. No siree.

He’s breathless by the time he slips through the doorway and flattens himself against the wall. He sucks in big gulps of air as he slides down into a squat and tucks laced fingers behind a bowed head. He hears that undeniable stomp of today’s guards rushing past the doorway, shouting at each other, each blaming the other for losing him. And it’s only then that he lets his shoulders relax, a grin on his face as he pushes himself back to his feet and wipes his brow. Jesus, is it fucking hot in here or what?

Then he looks around and realizes exactly where he is - the back of a glassworks shop. Furnace billow surprisingly quietly against one wall with what looks to be about a million unfamiliar and totally awesome stations and tools, all kinds of pieces lying and hanging and dangling around the room in various states of completion.

“Cool,” he mumbles as his breathing finally evens out, peering around with interest.

Just then what looks like a kid- No, no, it’s definitely a man, Bucky can see his age in the lines around his eyes and the set of his shoulders as he makes his way from the front of the shop. He’s small and at first you’d assume weak, but upon further inspection it’s clear that he’s actually got a lot of strength in that lean frame. _Rookie mistake_ , Bucky thinks. Nat would pummel him for that one. He’s covered in soot or something, grimy and sweaty and Bucky wants nothing more than to tangle his fingers in that messy blond hair and kiss him senseless.

His eyes snap to Bucky’s as he finally notices him and the blue of those eyes takes his breath away. 

“Hey!” he shouts, brow furrowing, and it’s instantly obvious that he doesn’t recognize the prince. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry!” Bucky chuckles and flashes his most charming grin, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. The door was open and I just had to get away from my-“

“I don’t care how much you hate your wife or your girlfriend or you parents or who-the-fuck-ever it is, get out of my-“

“Do you seriously not recognize me?” Bucky balks, shamelessly interrupting. Hey, he did it first and two can play at that game.

“ _Should_ I?” the blond asks. And Bucky can’t help but laugh at that, long and loud as he shakes his head. The stranger scowls and narrows his eyes suspiciously and goes on, “Look, I don’t care _who_ you are. You can’t be back here, so kindly fuck off please.”

Bucky just laughs harder, hands going up again, and he knows instantly he’s in love.

 

*

 

“James,” his father starts at dinner later that night, drawing a sigh from the prince’s lips. “Don’t roll your eyes at me like that son.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Bucky interjects before he can get any more scolding out. And he does, really. He’s sure his dad heard what they were saying on TV, that he’s been thinking it himself. He’s sure it would have come up sooner if not for his wonderful, loving, _patient_ mother. “And frankly, I don’t want to hear it.”

“You _need_ to start looking for a bride,” his mother chimes in, the traitor. At least she sounds closer to fretful than to scolding. She probably saw the damn gossip shows and got all anxious that he was going to end up alone or something. Ugh.

“Or a groom,” Becca chimes in without missing a beat. She looks thoroughly pleased with herself.

George sighs and rolls his eyes, but reluctantly he adds, “Yes, fine, or a groom. If you must.” He knows Bucky isn’t interested in women, has known since he was a teenager. But, still, it’s a fact he refuses to accept. “You’re already twenty-five James. You need to be married soon or people will start talking.”

“They’re already talking,” Natasha mutters with a quiet snicker and a sideways glance. She’d heard the whole story. Bucky had rushed home after his encounter with the glassblower and recounted the entire thing to his sisters.

“Let them talk,” Bucky says with a dismissive wave of his fork, “I’m the prince. I’ll get married when I please. I mean,” he grins and quirks an eyebrow as he settles his gaze on his father, “unless you plan on dying sometime soon or something and haven’t told us.” That one draws a frustrated sigh from the King.

“You should at least start courting someone dear,” Winifred says, trying to diffuse the tension. She reaches a hand out and pats his arm lightly. “What about that Bishop girl?” And that one draws a groan from Bucky. “Now, you two have always gotten along so well. And she’s such a sweetheart. She’d be good for you, too. You should give it a try.” She pauses, then flashes him a sly smile and adds. “It will buy you time, if nothing else.” Wow does she know him or what. He totally regrets mentally calling her a traitor.

“And it’ll shut everyone up.” Becca this time.

And just then a crazy idea clicks into place in his head and a wicked grin breaks out across his face. Buy some time, huh?

“Oh no,” his father grouses. “What’s _that_ look for?”

“Soooo,” he drags out the word, “if I start courting someone, then you’ll get off my back?” Even as he asks it he’s already pulling out his phone for research, already weeks into mental planning. And what was the name of that fucking shop?

His mother looks hopeful as she glances between her husband and her son. “Of course dear. Once you’re courting someone, well, we won’t have to worry about a thing. Of course it will end in marriage. You’re smart and handsome and funny, a perfect husband. I made sure of that. You can even cook! Who would turn down a marriage proposal from you?”

“Oh, I can think of someone,” Becca snickers and exchanges glances with Natasha, who just snorts and grins in her seat next to her.

“Well then,” Bucky says, smirking, “you better get off my back, because I’ve got just the guy.”

“Really?” Freddie looks like she’s about to burst, while George tries unsuccessfully to stifle a groan. “Who?”

“And why haven’t we heard of any interest in… _him_ before now?” his father asks, unamused and skeptical.

“He just met him in the market today,” Nat chimes in, smirking.

“You mean when you ran away from your guards?” Winnifred asks, only half-scolding.

But George looks instantly suspicious. If any nobility had come to town (especially anyone even Bucky hadn’t met yet), he would have heard of it in advance. “What family is he from?” he asks.

“Uhhh, I dunno,” Bucky shrugs, stuffing a forkful of food in his mouth. His eyes are still glued to his screen as he adds, just a bit quieter, “He’s a glassblower.”

“A commoner?” George asks, incredulous.

Winnie purses her lips, but she looks at least slightly less appalled by the idea. Bucky, Becca, and Natasha, on the other hand, all roll their eyes simultaneously.

“Well, George, come on now,” the Queen says, rubbing her husband’s arm gently. “It’s more common in the kids these days you know, mixing classes and all that. And, look at it this way, then there won’t be any of the old debates over silly things like land or castles or what have you.” She sounds like she’s still half trying to convince herself, and he reasoning is a little more than a little archaic, but she’s at least putting in _some_ effort and Bucky has to be grateful for that.

“Yeah, see” Bucky waves a dismissive hand, “look on the bright side. You won’t have to worry about losing your only son to some other, richer family.” He narrows his eyes at his phone and scowls, groaning as he finally gives up on his search and stuffs his phone back in his pocket. “Natalia,” he looks to her, “can you please work your magic for me?” She’ll find the shop, find their website, and with it, hopefully the name of that gorgeous blond.

“I’m the _king_ ,” George shoots back, tone flat. “There _isn’t_ anyone richer than us James.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, unamused, as he finally looks back over at his father. “Oh really?” he asks. “What if I’d met some other prince from some other, richer country? What then, hmm? He could have been visiting and fallen in love with my fair skin and steely grey eyes.” He bats his lashes at his father and Becca bursts out in a fit of laughter. Even his mother tries to hide a bout of giggles behind her hand, while Natasha just scoffs, already typing away on her phone.

“Anyway,” Bucky goes on, “if you’re the _king,_ then that means you get to decide who I can and can’t court and marry. And as my _father_ , that should mean that you want me to be with someone who makes me happy. Regardless of their family’s status.” And with that, the conversation is over.

 

*

 

Bucky sits in a café a few shops down from Shield Glassworks, wasting time while Natasha keeps an eye on the place. She’s been scoping it out for him for a few days and noticed that Steve (that’s his name, she had found out. Steve Rogers) is usually the one who leaves to get lunch. Perfect opportunity to speak to his mother without the chance of him walking into the room.

[ **Natasha:** The bird has flown the nest. You are good to go.]

And with it she sends that emoji with the chick popping out of the egg.

Bucky grins and rolls his eyes, taking a deep breath as he grabs the bouquet of flowers on the seat next to him. He’s in what Natasha has been calling a disguise as he makes his way down the street – his hair down, stubble along his jaw, big sunglasses and a cap on. It’s kind of worked, actually. So far he’s only been recognized once or twice.

“You’ve been watching too many spy movies,” he says to her as he brushes past and into the shop.

A bell above the door chimes as he enters Shield, flowers tucked behind his back. Sarah Rogers, the owner and Steve’s mother, chats familiarly with a man from her seat behind the counter. Bodily, she looks sickly in a way Bucky has never seen in person before. Her cheekbones are unnaturally sharp, she’s too thin, too pale. She has a scarf wrapped around her head and no hair to be seen beneath it. If he didn’t know better he’d say it was cancer…. But that’s impossible. He wonders what kind of illness in today’s age could cause such a change in a person. But despite how frail she looks, as he watches her interact with the man, the way she talks, laughs, smiles, it’s like nothing is wrong with her at all.

After a few more moments the customer pays and is on his way, leaving the two of them alone in the shop. With his free hand he pulls his sunglasses and cap off and approaches the counter, trying to decide exactly how to approach the topic he came here to discuss.

“Good day ma’am,” he says with his most charming smile.

“Now what on Earth could the Prince want with my little shop?” Sarah Rogers asks him, rising her to her feet. With that simple question she dumps about six of his plans and all of his expectations right on his head. Her tone is light and teasing and her smile reaches her eyes and it makes Bucky feel like he’s known her his whole life.

He flounders for what to say for a moment, before finally settling on, “So the disguise didn’t work then, huh?” He lets out a little huff of a laugh, his shoulders slouching just a little now that the pretense is gone. “I’ll have to fire my spy,” he jokes.

Sarah laughs and her eyes light up. “Prince James,” she says, “I have watched you grow up in front of this country’s eyes. I’ve seen your face about as much as my own son’s. Of course I recognize you.” She has this easy way about her that Bucky is fond of instantly. Even knowing who he is and what kind of power he holds, she still has no sense of formality with him beyond a general sense of common decency and politeness. That is something _very_ rare for him, especially in his adult life, and it’s something he cherishes. “Now, what can I do for you today?”

“Well –“ Bucky grins and he has the decency to look a little sheepish as he holds out the bouquet of flowers to her, “for you ma’am – you see, the other day I was in… um, we’ll call it quite a situation,” his grin grows at the memory, “and, well, I may have slipped into the back of your shop here. Where I actually, uh, met your son.”

Sarah snickers as she takes the offered flowers, a knowing smile on her face. “Oh dear,” she says, eyes crinkling in the corners, “that was you?” Oh, my dear Prince, I apologize for how rudely I’m sure he treated you. I heard the story and I can only imagine…” she trails off, chuckling to herself.

“No, no. No apology necessary,” Bucky replies, waving a dismissive hand. Her smile is infectious and he can only imagine how her son’s is the same. “He’s fierce and completely unafraid and, I must say, I’m actually quite smitten ma’am.” She shoots him an intrigued look, but doesn’t say anything, so he goes on, “That’s the reason I’ve come today, actually. You see, I know you’re the head of the Rogers family – and I am so sorry for your loss, ma’am, truly and eternally – and, well, I wanted to ask your permission to court your son.”

When all she does is stare at him, eyes wide and expression just outside of readable, he turns red and starts to ramble. “I know the tradition is dying out, especially with,” he gestures, fumbling for a non-offensive word, “non-nobility. Especially the asking the parents part. And I’m sure Steven, of all people - well, you raised him to be such a firecracker – I’m sure he-“

And then Sarah bursts into laughter, thankfully shutting him right up. He was really starting to embarrass himself there.

“Excuse me for my laughter, Prince James-“ she starts, but Bucky interrupts.

“Please,” he says, his blush darkening even as his smile hasn’t faltered, “you can drop the title. It really isn’t necessary ma’am.”

Sarah laughs even harder at that and she shakes her head. “Only if you stop calling me ma’am,” she teases him with a wink. As he laughter dies down she reaches a hand out and rests it on his arm. “Forgive me for my laughter dear. It’s not at your expensive, I promise. It’s just,” she sighs, happy and disbelieving as she shakes her head again, “well, this _would_ happen to him, wouldn’t it?” She looks up and meets his eyes as she squeezes his arm gently, supportively. “Of course you have my permission dear, but good luck with him.” She pats his arm lightly before slipping back onto her stool behind the counter. “Lord knows he deserves it, but it won’t be easy.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asks with a nervous chuckle, his smile faltering just slightly. “Is it because I’m a man?”

Sarah smirks and leans forward onto an elbow, fixing him with an amused look as she replies, “It’s because you’re a _Prince_.”

 

*

 

Bucky shaves and dresses fairly nice this time – dress pants and a half-done button up. Not quite the suit and tie he’s usually wearing when in the public, eye, but at least more similar. He skips the sunglasses and cap and pulls his hair up into a messy bun. His father even agrees to let him forgo a body guard, provided Natasha stay close and look “very official and intimidating” the entire time. It’s a well-known fact that she’d trained extensively in martial arts in school when Bucky had been focused on his fiction books and Becca had refused to put down a paint brush (unless it was to pick up a sewing needle). There have been leaked videos of Nat taking down their own body guards sparring. No one would mess with her.

Today they get recognized around every turn. Bucky’s just grateful that very few people actually stop him on the street. Most just gasp and gawk and snap pictures from a distance. Mrs. McCarthy, the woman who owns the flower shop, looks like she might actually cry. And when she tries to give him his bouquet – pink azaleas (Steve’s favorite, Sarah had told him) with intermittent lily of the valley – for free, Bucky gives her triple what the flowers would have normally cost. Natasha, playing the loyal guard today, fights the urge to roll her eyes. She can’t quite fight the smirk that tugs at the corner of her mouth, though.

When he walks into Shield Glassworks he immediately recognizes the two men behind the counter, laughing over something on one of their phones. Sam Wilson, he recognizes from the photos on the shop’s website, is slouched against the counter. And next to him is Clint Barton, who Sarah had talked about with what can only be described as fond exasperation. He’s a blacksmith with a shop around the corner. Sarah had said they were Steve’s closest friends, and so he had done a little research.

“Welcome to Shield Glassworks. How can I- ?” Sam starts, but half-way through his spiel he looks up from the phone and realizes exactly who he’s talking to and he cuts off inelegantly, his jaw dropping open a little, his eyebrows raising.

“No way,” Clint mutters under his breath next to him when he finally glances up too.

“Um, hi,” Bucky tries, flashing a smile. He fidgets anxiously with the bouquet in his hands. Maybe he should have done this on a day Sarah would be here. Shit. “Is there, um, any way I could speak to Steve?” he asks. “Just for a couple of minutes. It won’t take long, I promise.”

Sam looks like he’s not quite sure if he’s going to laugh or not, like he’s not quite sure if he’s awake or asleep or hallucinating as he drags out an “Ummmm,” and his eyes dart between Bucky’s face and the flowers in his hands and the intimidating redheaded princess behind him.

Clint, on the other hand, barks out a laugh and repeats, “No fucking way.”

Bucky’s sure they don’t know quite what he’s here for, or the long-term plans and deeper intentions behind his visit, even if they’ve started putting pieces together. Still though, it has to look strange. He knows what people think of him, what they say about him and the persona he puts on for public appearances. His outfit choice probably didn’t help, he knows that much. He’s not oblivious to the ways of the world and how people talk. But it’s too late now. All he can do is flash his most sincere smile and hope that calculating look Sam is giving him sees that this is his truth.

“Sure,” Sam says finally, dragging the word out just a bit, clearly still suspicious. “Can’t say no to the Prince, right?” He pats the counter, wasting time, hesitating in making his way to the back of the shop.

Behind him Natasha snorts and mumbles, “I mean, I do all the time.”

Bucky chooses to ignore her. “Well, you _could,_ ” he says to Sam instead, chuckling softly, “but I would _really_ appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Sam eyes him warily for another moment, lips pursed, before giving a nod and turning. He disappears into the back of the shop and Bucky can hear frantic, hushed talking, but he can’t quite make out what they’re saying. Clint chuckles, letting his eyes roam freely, sizing him up or checking him out or maybe something in between the two, Bucky can’t quite figure it out. Thankfully Sam emerges a minute later, shoving along a very grimy, sweaty, pink-cheeked Steve Rogers. Bucky thinks it’s adorable.

“You, uh, you asked for me, your highness?” Steve asks as he stumbles to a stop in front of him, wiping his hands off on a rag and cautiously eyeing the bouquet in Bucky’s hands.

“Oh, uh, please, call me Bucky,” he says, holding the flowers out to the smaller man. “It’s what my friends call me. I just wanted to apologize for the way I burst into your workshop the other day.” Steve’s eyes narrow briefly in confusion. The wheels are turning in his head and he hesitates before taking the offered flowers, but he doesn’t say anything, so Bucky goes on, “The door was open, you see, and I needed to get away from my body guards.” And then Steve’s eyes go wide and recognition flashes across his face as Bucky starts to ramble. “I didn’t mean to intrude- though I am _very_ glad fate brought into your shop, of all of them on the block, to meet you.”

Natasha snorts again behind him and Clint’s grin has grown wider, while Sam looks unimpressed and suspicious.

Steve’s cheeks have turned a shade darker by the time he finally speaks. “I… um, I’m quite flattered, your highness, and grateful for the flowers.” He speaks slowly, picking and choosing his words carefully. “But, well, I guess _I_ should be the one apologizing, shouldn’t I? For my rudeness, I suppose.”

“Oh, not at all,” Bucky’s smile grows impossibly wider and he waves a dismissive hand. “And anyway, another chance to see your lovely face is worth more than a thousand apologies, if they were necessary at all. Which they aren’t.” Steve looks surprised at the compliment, confused if not flattered. And there’s another snort from Natasha. Her voice in his head teases him, _Smooth_. “I was the one intruding, after all,” he adds quickly, a reminder, a desperate plea for the blond to say something.

“Well, uh, thank you, your highness,” he says finally. “But still, I’m pretty sure I told you fuck off. Literally. So, um, I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, if nothing else.”

Bucky knows his sister well enough to know that she’s fighting the urge to make a joke about how he liked it or that it turned him on or something like that, and he’s eternally grateful when she manages to keep it to herself.

“Well thank you, but really, really,” Bucky insists, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind his ear as he’s sure his grin is starting to go goofy, “it’s not necessary. I came to give an apology, not receive one. Hence the flowers.” He motions toward the flowers Steve has clutched to his chest.

The blond brushes a thumb lightly along the stems and smiles, but it seems strained. “Well, in that case, thank you, your highness. Apology accepted,” he says, glancing over his shoulder briefly. “But, really, I do have to get back to work.”

“Oh! Of course,” Bucky says, eyes widening momentarily and now he’s blushing too. “Of course. How rude of me. I’m so sorry. I’ll see you around then?” he asks, voice and eyes hopeful.

“Oh, um, I, uh… Well, I suppose we’ll see,” Steve says, surprise flashing across his face, that smile still strained.

And Natasha, saint that she is, manages to make it all the way out of the shop, even waits until the door is firmly closed behind them no less, before she elbows him lightly and mutters, “Smooth, Barnes. Real smooth.”

 

*

 

Bucky has a plan. He doesn’t know much about courting. It’s true what he’d said to Sarah. Even in the nobility, the practice is starting to die out. It’s not something they teach you how to do in school, so all he’s got to go on are his father’s stories of courting his mother. But still, Bucky has a plan.

He has a bouquet delivered to the shop once a week. He tries not to stop in, to give Steve space, to not take up his time. But each week he sends along little notes or poems, telling the blond how his beauty outshines the sun, how his eyes have all the color and warmth of the perfect summer day, how his voice is sweeter than any music known to man. He does this for a month and a half. And on that sixth week, he sends a gift along with the flowers. A necklace, gold with a delicate little sun charm. A pair with one he now places around his own neck, silver with a moon, a star dangling half way up the chain, resting right at his collarbone. And attached to the jewelry box he adds a note that says, “For the man who smiles like sunshine.”

The next day he shows up at the shop, a small, hopeful smile on his face as he steps through the door. Sarah is helping a customer when the bell chimes above his head, but she beams at him from across the room and waves him over, back behind the counter.

“Go on back,” she says at a break in the conversation with a little nod in the direction of the doorway.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers, kissing her cheek as slips past her, behind the counter and into the workshop in the back of the store.

Steve is, again, sweaty and grimy and pink-cheeked and Bucky is beginning to grow fond of the way it looks on him. He’s inspecting what must be a freshly finished piece, or nearly finished at least, when Bucky pads into the room. When the blond looks up and sees the prince standing there, a red rose in his hand, he gives a soft sigh and an exasperated smile.

“Hello your highness,” he says, setting the delicate piece of glass down on a clean workspace. “To what do I owe the honor?”

The brunet’s eyes drop momentarily, searching desperately for that hint of gold at the collar of his shirt. His heart sinks just a little when he finds it absent, but he tries not to let his disappointment show, his smile falter.

“The honor’s all mine,” Bucky says, despite the growing doubt in his gut. He gives a small bow as he holds the rose to the other man. “And, please, like I said, call me Bucky. Or James, at least, if you insist. I trust my gifts all made it to you well.”

“Every petal in place,” Steve assures him with a chuckle. He hesitates for a moment, his smile falling for just a fraction of a second, before taking the offered rose. “But, really, your highness, it’s all been too much. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve-“

“Oh,” Bucky cuts him off, blushing when he realizes that he’s done so, “I’m so sorry. Have, um, have my intentions been unclear?” he asks, shifting from foot to foot, fidgeting nervously with his fingers.

“Well, no… but also yes, I suppose,” Steve replies, shifting the rose back and forth between his hands. He sniffs it quickly and that brings a smile to his face, dreamy and gone as fast as it had come. “I feel kind of crazy saying it, your highness, and I don’t mean any disrespect when I say this, but… well, if I didn’t know better I’d say it almost feels like… like you’re trying to court me.” He laughs, a little bitterly, and Bucky opens his mouth to respond, but Steve cuts him off with a pointed look. “But there’s no way the Prince, firstborn, only son of King George,” he rambles off the titles, gesturing with the rose, “would be courting a lowly glassblower.”

Bucky takes a step forward, an intrigued grin playing on his face, and asks, “Now why not?” Steve looks a little taken aback for a moment, but then he smirks and cocks an eyebrow, amused, as the brunet goes on, “And what if I told you that your hunch is, in fact, correct?” Now the blond’s smile falls and in its place suspicion sets in. “What if I asked you to dinner?”

Steve’s cheeks had already been pink from the heat of the room, but they flush even darker now as he finally meets the prince’s eyes. “Really, your highness,” he stutters, “you- you can’t be… It’s- it’s- Your highness, I couldn’t.”

“And just why not?” Buck repeats, taking another step forward. He knows he’s laying the charm on a little thick, slipping into that damn persona. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t panicking right now, doubting his every word, doubting his hopes and his plan. Steve’s gotten him completely off-guard and when he doesn’t know what to do, he fakes it.

But Steve just sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t even know you James. And, jesus, you’re the _Prince_. And- and,” his eyes meet Bucky’s again and this time there’s anger there, “and I’m not some plaything here for you to date because you’re angry at your father or the media or _whatever_ this is.”

Bucky’s smile falls, his mask drops, his brow furrows in confusion. “Is that really all you think this is?” he asks. “You think I’m trying to get back at my dad or that this is some silly rebellion thing or something petty like that?” Steve at least has the decency to blush darker, but his fists are still balled at his sides, shoulders tense. “Those notes I sent? You think I just… made all that up? That I would mess with you – with anyone – like that? That I would do all this for some stupid little prank to piss my dad off?” He’s hurt more than angry, and the way his voice cracks shows it.

But Steve gets defensive anyway, letting out a little huff as he crosses his arms over his chest. Anger bubbles up, erasing all sense of formality he’d clung to thus far. “Well, your highness, as I said, I don’t know anything about you at all. Not really, anyway. Why should I think I can trust you? Because you’re a Barnes?” he scoffs. “For all I know you didn’t even write those notes.”

The words sting and his brow knits together. He fidgets with the little moon dangling from the chain around his neck, the star tickles his collarbone with the movement and he thinks again how carefully he’d chosen the set. “I- I…” he stutters and trails off, at a complete loss for how to even respond or defend himself, unsure if he even should, if he even deserves to. “I wasn’t- I didn’t… didn’t men to- Steve, look… I know we don’t know each, really, but isn’t that _why_ \- “

“Your highness, please,” Steve says sharply, hands up in defense, eyes falling shut as he takes a deep, steadying breath. When they open again they meet Bucky’s and there’s fire in them still, but also fear and a tiredness. “As I said, I’m not a plaything, not a toy. I am a human being and, unlike spoiled princes who get to do what they please all day, I have work to get back to. So, respectfully, would you please just go already?”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, defend himself, say _something_ , but ultimately he just sighs and gives a small nod. “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” he mutters. “Maybe… maybe I’ll see you around still… hopefully.” To which Steve just lets out an irritated, noncommittal hum and turns back to his work.

Bucky lets his head hang as he makes his way back to the front of the shop. He knows that he’s sulking and if he doesn’t suck it up he’s going to earn a whap from Natasha. He knows that if doesn’t suck it up, and pictures get around, Ansel and the rest of the damn media is going to have an absolute field day. But he can’t bring himself to care. He wants to sulk and wallow right now and he’ll be damned if that isn’t what he’s going to do. Fuck what any gossip show sleezeball has to say about it. He’s spent almost two months laying his heart bare and now it feels like Steve’s just stomped all over it. With track cleats.

“Thanks Miss Rogers,” he mumbles, giving a meek wave as he passes her.

She looks after him, confused, for a second, but quickly hops off her stool and chases him around the counter. “Now wait just a minute there Bucky Barnes,” she says, mom voice firmly in place. “Where on Earth do you think you’re going looking all sullen and defeated like that?”

Bucky sighs, but he lets her grip on his wrist stop him. “He doesn’t want me,” he says, and as he turns to her he feels his heart break now that the words are out there in the open. “He thinks I’m just toying with him or something, that I’m just chasing him to piss off my dad. I don’t know. But he made it pretty damn clear he’ll have nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Sarah’s face softens and she brings a hand up to cup Bucky’s cheek. “Don’t give up on him just yet. Let me talk to him.” Bucky finally glances up and meets her eyes and in them he sees how genuine and hopeful she is. “Give him some time” she goes on, “and then try again. You’ll think of how to win him over dear, I’m sure of it.”

 

*

 

“Shit Buck, I’m sorry,” Natasha says, carding her fingers through his hair.

As soon as he’d gotten home, still openly sulking, he’d found his sisters in the sitting room. He promptly flopped down on the couch where Natasha was and laid his head in her lap as he recounted the story.

“You think I should just give up?” he asks her, tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to fall, his chest aching.

“Now why would you do a stupid thing like that?” she asks, looking down at him, incredulous and unamused.

“Well, I mean, he made it pretty fuckin’ clear he doesn’t want my stupid flowers or stupid gifts or anything to do with me at all.” He sighs and rolls onto his back so he can look up at her. “He thinks this is just some stupid rebellious phase or that I’m just fucking with him or something.”

“Well of _course_ he’d think that you idiot. You’re a _Prince_ for fuck’s sake. For all his in intents and purposes and compared to you he’s a _nobody_.” She flicks his forehead and Bucky whines, but she just goes on. “Royalty doesn’t chase after _commoners_. Jesus Buck, think it through. All he’s seen of you is that silly mask you put on for the public. Think of how that looks to him. To him you’re just another spoiled, pompous, arrogant Prince. Maybe eye candy, at best-“

“Hey!”

“Now _I_ know that’s not true, but that’s all he’s ever seen of you! Now, again, think of how this all looks to him. Before you started all this courting crap you’d met him exactly _once_. In which he basically _yelled at you_ , _and_ told you to fuck off. And from that you’re supposedly head over heels for him? Please.” She rolls her eyes. “He probably thinks you’re doing all this to get back at him for that or something. From his point of view your absolute best intentions couldn’t possibly more than a hate fuck or something.” Bucky opens his mouth to argue, or whine, he’s not quite decided which yet (maybe both, he thinks), but Natasha cuts him off, on a roll, “He has _no way_ of knowing you’re actually an idiot who would fall in love with the first person to yell at you.”

He makes a little indignant noise, his pout cranked up to about eleven, and mutters, “ _You_ were the first person to yell at me.”

Tasha just rolls her eyes and keeps going. “So _prove him wrong,”_ she says. “ _Show him_.” She flicks his forehead again and he sits up in a huff, batting at her hand. “He said he doesn’t even know you and he’s _right_. So introduce yourself, let him get to know you, show him your intentions are clear. Then maybe ask him out again.”

“And how am I supposed to show him?” Bucky asks, throwing his hands up in defeat. “You normally get to know people on _dates_. But, oh yeah! He said _no_. And I can’t keep bothering him at work – though that Barton seems to be there enough – but still! I know enough to know that. So how am I supposed to let him get to know me?”

Write him a letter you doofus,” Becca finally chimes in, wadding up an abandoned drawing and tossing the paper ball at him. Natasha gives him a pointed look like, ‘ _See?’_ and motions to their sister as she keeps going, “Write him, like, a million letters. You’re good at that. Send them with your stupid flowers if you want to keep being a sap. Just give up on that floofy fucking poetry and send him something _real._ ”

“I already sent him-“ Bucky starts to argue, indignant, but Becca cuts him off.

“You sent him love notes lamenting the blue of his eyes and a smile you’ve never actually seen before. I’m talking about real letters, goofy letters. Things like what you’d send to me or Tasha if one of us was away for a while. ‘Here’s what I did today.’ ‘I’m thinking about this random thing right now.’ ‘Here’s how I feel about storms and… and pineapple on pizza’! Shit so that he can _actually_ get to know you, the _real_ you, to know you’re genuine. No one wants to know Prince fucking James.” Her face scrunches up and by now Natasha is absolutely losing it. “He’s boring.”

Bucky narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, brooding even as he actually gives the idea some thought. And fine, he can admit, it is actually a good idea.

“Send the first one without flowers,” Natasha thinks aloud, still snickering quietly. “Or with just one or something, if you _must._ It’ll throw him off-guard and then maybe he won’t just roll his eyes and ignore it.”

Bucky purses his lips and lets out a thoughtful little hum, but he can already feel his spirits lifting. “Yu really think it’ll work?” he asks, hopeful, as he glances back and forth between his sisters. The longer he thinks about it the more he thinks that it really might.

“Of course it will,” Becca says with a cocky grin, “it was _my_ idea.”

And, hey,” Nat adds with a little shrug and a quirked brow, “if it doesn’t, you’re not going to be any worse off than you already are. Right?”

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes fondly as he nudges her. “Gee thanks,” he says, tone flat. “You always know just how to cheer me up.” But he knows she’s right and it’s not long before he’s pushing himself off the couch and rushing off to start his first letter.

 

*

 

Over the course of the next few days he writes and re-writes the letter at least six times (that’s about where he lost track). He doesn’t leave him room, barely sleeps or eats, and he’s really starting to grow quite the beard. By the time he’s satisfied, the letter reads:

_Steve,_

_I want to start by sincerely apologizing for the misunderstanding between us and for my lack of clarity in my original writings to you. I have thought long and hard about it and I understand now how you would feel that my intentions for you could be malicious at worst or ingenuine at best. I’m sincerely sorry if I have caused you any grief in that. But in writing this I want you to know that my feelings are true and I am will do whatever it takes to prove to you that I’m genuine._

_That day when I first met you, when I first saw you, it was like seeing the sun for the first time. It was blinding and confusing and a little painful, but also thrilling and it made me feel warm and alive in a way I never had before. It was like I’d been living in the dark my entire life and I had no idea until you showed me light. Like the moon meeting the sun, I had no idea of true warmth, of true light, until I met you. And I will gladly fly like Icarus into your light, even if it means you will burn me, even if I fall and my body breaks on the Earth below. It will all have been worth it to feel your warmth._

_When last we met you said you don’t know me. It’s almost funny, because when I first met your mother she made a comment about watching me grow up, about how much she felt like she did know me. But you’re right, of course. You don’t know me. At least not the real me. Being so near to my age, I’m sure you’ve had to hear the gossip your whole life. And I’m sure you formed opinions of me the same way you would of any peer, if not maybe even more harshly. After all, you couldn’t speak to me, get my side of the stories. So you’re right, you don’t know me. But I would like to change that, if you’ll let me._

_So hi, my name is James Buchanan Barnes. When we were kids, my baby sister – Becca – started calling me Bucky and the name just stuck. I think my mom, in particular, though it was cute – Bucky and Becky, you know? My father and adopted sister Natasha still call me James sometimes, especially when they’re scolding me. My birthday is March 10 th. My favorite color is red and my favorite animals are cats. We have one in the palace, actually. His name is Micho (pronounced like mee-cho). He’s very sweet. I really think you’d like him, even if you don’t like cats._

_I love to read and to write. It’s what I specialized in, in school. My favorite books are the really old sci-fi novels. Your mom said you love to draw and paint in your free time. So does Becca. She loves any kind of art – even things like embroidery. I think you two would get along. You both love sassing me, that’s for sure. Haha. You know what, on second thought, maybe you two shouldn’t meet too soon after all. I don’t think that would end very well for me._

_Anyway, I’ll keep this first one relatively short. I hope to hear from you soon._

_With love,  
Bucky_

At the last second he decides to add his phone number and a little P.s.: _This is my personal cell number. I really would love to hear from you. So I know this letter reaches you well, if nothing more._

He doesn’t let Natasha or Becca read it before sending it along with a single pink azalea.

 

It’s almost a week with his phone practically attached to his hand, endlessly waiting, jumping at any notification, before he finally receives a single tex.

[ **Unknown Number:** I got your letter.]

His heart races as he reads the message over and over about a thousand times. Then he races off to find Natasha and show her. He’s not sure what this means, or if it’s good or bad or somewhere in between. Steve certainly didn’t give him any indication one way or another. But, hey, he also didn’t tell him to fuck off. And Bucky’s pretty damn certain by now that Steve would have come right out and said it if that’s what he wanted, so he takes it as a victory.

 

He quickly slips back into (a modified version of) his original plan, sending Steve flowers once a week. Sometimes he lets Mrs. McCarthy pick the arrangements, sometimes he falls back on that original, simple bouquet. But not matter what he chooses for that week, he makes sure they always include azaleas.

This time around, instead of love notes and poems he sends another letter with each delivery, long and rambling and in his scratchy handwriting, his soul laid bare on paper. He keeps in touch with Sarah and often asks her advice for gifts to send along. She’s reluctant in her pride and knows her son won’t be any different. Nonetheless, after some begging and pleading she tells him which tools Steve needs replaced and the new ones he’s been trying to save up for, what his favorite sweets are, the names of those expensive paints and other art supplies Steve eyes in the shop window but would never even dream of actually buying for himself. One day he sends along lunch for all three of them in the shop, straight from the restaurant Sarah tells him is Steve’s favorite.

He continues this for two months with complete radio silence from the blond before Bucky can’t stand it. He feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest.

“Just go talk to him,” Becca nags, not even bothering to look up from her embroidery, as Bucky paces frantically around the sitting room.

“You think I should?” he asks, chewing his bottom lip raw. “You think I should ask him out again? You think he’d say yes this time?”

Becca lets out a thoughtful hum and Natasha chimes in from her seat on the couch, eyes still glued to her tablet, “Has he told you to fuck off yet?” Becca snickers and Bucky vaguely thinks they’ve been spending too much time together lately. Maybe he should forget all this courting stuff and run interference.

“No,” he says as he finally comes to a stop, somewhere between pleased, proud, and just a little indignant as he thinks about it. “I mean, not yet at least. I guess.”

Nat lets out an exaggerated hum before finally looking up at him and giving a shrug. “Then maybe,” she says.

It’s not much, but it’s just what Bucky needs. He feels a surge of confidence and he sucks in a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest, giving a single definitive nod to no one in particular. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’m gonna do it.”

“Wear that one outfit. The one with thee blue shirt that makes your eyes pop,” Natasha says. Then, as he nods again and rushes out of the room she calls after him, “And maybe shave!”

 

*

 

Bucky shaves and changes quickly, leaving his hair in its messy bun, before rushing into town. His outfit is much more casual this time, but he thinks that’s something Steve will appreciate about it, if nothing else. He makes a quick stop at the florist and buys another single red rose, just like the first time he’d asked the blond on a date, and hopes for a better result this time. He tucks the hand with it behind his back this time, just to be safe.

When he finally works up the nerve to make his way into the glass shop he’s surprised to see Steve sitting at the counter instead of Sarah or Sam. The blond is sketching in one of the sketchbooks he’d sent him, using the expensive pencils. A rush of pride surges through him, followed by another boost of confidence. He’d gotten Steve something useful, something he’d wanted and needed, and now Steve is actually using it.

“Welcome to Shield Glassworks. How can I help you?” Steve rambles off automatically, but when he looks up his forced smile works its way into something unreadable and his cheeks turn pink. “Oh, uh, hello your highness,” he says, eyes darting quickly to the rose in Bucky’s hand that’s slipped from behind his back. “What brings you in today?” he asks, though the prince is pretty sure from the look on his face that he already knows.

“You’re using the things I sent you,” Bucky rushes out, forgoing a greeting, nervous and beaming. The color of Steve’s cheeks darkens. “Good,” he adds quickly, “I’m glad. Are they right? Are they what you needed?”

“Oh, um,” Steve, taken aback, glances down to the supplies sprawled across the counter, “yes, they’re… they’re perfect.” He composes himself a little and uses his pencil as a bookmark as he closes the sketchbook. “Thank you,” he goes on. “I meant to- to thank you, sooner, but I wasn’t sure…”

“It’s okay,” the prince cuts him off, unable to dampen his smile. He approaches the counter and holds the rose out to the other man. “It’s okay, really, no need. I’m just happy you’re using them. That’s thanks enough. How are you doing? You look lovely. How’s your mother?”

“Thank you,” Steve mumbles, taking the rose. “She’s doing fine. She’s off getting her treatment today. And I’m doing alright. Just giving Sam a break from the front of the shop…” He hesitates, then asks, “How are _you_ doing your highness?”

“I’m good, great, yeah. Though,” he tries to somber his expression, give a shrug he hopes look nonchalant, a grin he hopes looks coy (he’s not sure it works), “I suppose, I could be better.”

The blond tilts his head curiously and asks, “How so?” And as he does his free hand comes up to toy mindlessly with something around his neck, something that catches Bucky’s eye – the necklace Bucky had sent him, gold and glimmering in the sunlight. His heart skips a beat as he wonders just how long Steve has been wearing it. A week? A month? Since that first letter?

“Well,” Bucky says, batting his lashes playfully, pretending he isn’t fazed, “you _could_ say you’ll go to dinner with me. Chaperoned, of course,” he quickly adds, “for our first. It will just be Natasha tagging along with me, though. You met her before – last time. Well, not last time, before that. With the red hair. And you bring along whoever too. Sam, or Clint, if you want. If your mother is okay with that.” He blushes and laughs nervously as he realizes he’s started rambling, but he doesn’t know how to stop. “If you say yes, that is.”

Steve’s trying unsuccessfully to muffle laughter of his own and his gaze drops from Bucky’s face to the rose now clasped in his own hand. “Well, I suppose I should – say yes, I mean – before you make Mrs. McCarthy rich and she starts thinking she’s too good for the rest of us anymore,” he teases. And Bucky had been right – the blond’s smile is catching, like fire, bright and contagious and it makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

“Really?” he asks, in awe and eternally hopeful. “You really mean it?”

“Yes, alright,” Steve chuckles. “Dinner. Tomorrow night. I’ll bring Sam along. He’ll appreciate a free meal.”

Bucky feels like he could burst, he’s so happy. It takes everything he has to fight the urge to squeal like a schoolgirl or do some kind of victory dance or something equally as embarrassing. “I’ll meet you at the restaurant at 7,” he says. “Your favorite.” He reaches out and clasps once of Steve’s hands in his, his smile so wide it’s starting to hurt his cheeks. “You won’t regret this, I swear.” And then he presses a kiss to the back of his hand and rushes out the door with an excited little noise.

 

*

 

“This is a bad idea James,” Natasha says, leaning against the wall next to his mirror as he gets ready. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s giving him a _look_ , eyebrows raised and lips pursed.

Bucky glances to her briefly before returning his gaze to his own reflection, knotting his tie. “I thought you _liked_ Steve,” he replies, just a little indignant. “I thought you supported me in this. I thought you wanted this to work out.”

“Whoa, slow down, I do.” Natasha sighs, rolling her eyes. She takes a step forward and straightens his tie, smooths her hands down the front of his suit jacket. “It’s just… _this_ Jamie. This date. You really think you can go out dressed like this?” She steps back and gestures up and down his outfit. “ _Everyone_ is going to recognize you, and snap pictures, and probably harass you. You know what they’re already saying. At least buy out the restaurant for the night, so it’s empty.”

Bucky sighs now and mimics her eye roll. He grips her shoulders gently and holds her at arm’s length. “Exactly,” he says, meeting those familiar green eyes. “They’re already saying it, they already know what’s going on. So what do I care? Steve would hate it if I bought out the entire restaurant and you know it. I knew going into this that people would talk – that _everyone_ would talk. I don’t _care_ Natalia. I love him.”

“You can’t _love_ him,” Natasha scoffs, pulling back from his grip. She smooths her dress down, red and slinky and gorgeous. Bucky had picked it out for her himself, a gift for her birthday last year. “Not yet anyway. You don’t really know him, Jamie. You may have bared your soul to him, but he’s hardly returned the favor up until now.”

Bucky rolls his eyes again and turns from her, walks toward his dresser, double and triple checks his pockets as he goes. “And what do you know about romantic love?” he asks her with a glance over his shoulder.

She narrows her eyes at him and crosses her arms over her chest again. “Fine,” she huffs out. “You love him. Whatever. Then you should worry about what it will do to _him_ if people start harassing the two of you. It’s fine and dandy for you to say,” she mimics his voice melodramatically and Bucky raises an eyebrow and smirks at it, “’I’m the prince and I don’t care what people say about me.’ But he’s a glassblower James, he doesn’t get that luxury. _He_ has everything to lose.”

He sighs and purses his lips, mulling the thought over for a minute before shrugging a little. “I mean, they wouldn’t come bother the Prince while he’s at dinner,” he says finally. “And if anyone has anything to say to him about it, I’ll set them straight. Being courted by the prince means that you have his royal protection, right?” He makes his way back over to the mirror and checks his reflection one last time, loosening his tie and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt so the star on his necklace can be seen at his collarbone. _Better_ , he thinks.

Natasha, on the other hand, gives him a look that says ‘ _Really?’_  and lets out another little huff, rolling her eyes and grabbing her purse as she motions for him to follow her. “Whatever you say your highness,” she mutters. “Let’s go.”

 

Natasha shoots off rapid fire texts as Bucky drives to the restaurant. When he questions it she just shrugs it off with a, “Me and Becca are making fun of your stupid fucking outfit.” He knows she’s lying, but he decides not to push it. When they make it to the restaurant a small bouquet of flowers has already been delivered and placed at his chosen table in the back corner of the restaurant, nice  and secluded.

A couple of patrons gawk, completely failing at any sense of subtlety as they snap pictures of him and Natasha making their way across the room. There’s a row of tables immediately surrounding theirs that are empty. He’d at least had the foresight to buy those out too, give them a little bit of privacy.

“See?” Natasha hisses at him as he pulls a chair out for her. “This was a bad idea Buck. Look at them. Remind me again why you didn’t just buy the damn place out for the night?”

Bucky chuckles, raising an eyebrow at her as he pushes her chair in and takes his seat next to her. “We went over this,” he says. “You know how pissed Steve would have been if I’d done something as extravagant as all that.”

Natasha shoots him a look and leans on an elbow on the table as she mutters, “Not as pissed as he’ll be when all these people are taking pictures of him and posting them on the _internet_ and he ends up on all the _gossip shows.”_

Bucky pales just a little and bites his bottom lip, letting out a strained, thoughtful hum. “I, uh… I must admit, I had _not_ thought of that,” he admits finally, smoothing a hand back over his hair. “I don’t know Nat. I’ll just tell them all to fuck off or something. It can’t be that bad, right?”

But Natasha just raises her eyebrows higher, looking thoroughly unimpressed, as Steve finally makes his way over to the table. Behind him he’s dragging along an annoyed-looking Sam Wilson.

At the sight of the pair Bucky jumps from his seat, rushing around the table to pull Steve’s chair out for him. “Hello,” he says, trying to keep his goofy grin in check. “Hi, you look amazing tonight. Well, I mean, you always look amazing. But you know what I mean. Hello,” he rambles, laughing nervously.

And Steve does look amazing, really. This is the first time Bucky’s seen him out of his work clothes at all, talk about dressed up. It’s even more wonderful a sight than he’d been imagining all day. His hair is styled and his suit, well, it’s a little too big on him, not tailored at all, no. But it doesn’t matter. He’s stunning.

“Hello your highness,” Steve greets him, chuckling softly at the brunet’s rambling. “You clean up pretty well yourself, if I do say so,” he teases, bringing a hand up and cupping Bucky’s cheek where just a little bit of stubble is starting to grow back in. His middle finger strokes gently along his jawline and it sends a shiver down the prince’s spine.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Bucky mumbles, flushing as he melts into the touch. He reaches a hand up and catches the blond’s to press a kiss to the palm, then his knuckles. “How’s your mother doing?” he asks.

Steve cheeks tint just the slightest bit of pink at the affections and he slips into the seat. “She’s doing alright,” he says, his smile turning somber as Bucky pushes his chair in.

“Good, good,” Bucky says, too quickly. He hadn’t felt this nervous earlier, but being in Steve’s presence now is making his heart race, cranking his nerves up to eleven. “Hello Sam, you look nice too. Hope you’re doing well.”

“Hello Prince James,” Sam replies with an unamused hum from where he’s already settled into the chair next to Steve’s. “Doin’ just fine. Thanks for asking.”

Natasha snickers and smirks at him from her seat across from him. “Nice to see you again Sam,” she says.

“Pleasure’s all mine princess,” he replies with his first sincere smile since they arrived, his gaze drifting to her.

“Oh, I’m no princes,” she says, playing coy, as she laughs softly and shakes her head.

“Oh, not this again,” Bucky says with a fond roll of his eyes as he takes his seat next to her. “Of course you’re a princess. You’re my sister.” He vaguely notices other patrons craning in their chairs to see who the Prince could possibly have met here, whispering to each other. But he ignores them.

“My parents worked in the kitchen Jamie,” she says, swatting at his arm playfully. Sam snorts and grins at the nickname while Steve lights up, positively delighted. “I’m not a princess.”

“Yeah but my parents adopted you Natalia,” Bucky reminds her, nudging her playfully. “Legally. That makes you a princess,” he sing-songs. “Whether you like it or not.”

“I think the prince wins that one, your highness, on a technicality,” Steve interjects, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I do know what you mean. I couldn’t imagine having to adjust to tht kind of life,” he says with a chuckle. Then with a wide grin and a curious tilt of his head he catches Bucky’s eye and adds, “And did she just call you Jamie?”

“Oh, you’ll be more than imagining soon enough,” Sam teases him and Steve pales a little, his laughter dying immediately as his head snaps to glare at his friend. Sam at least has the decency to look a little guilty, even as he laughs and shrugs. “What?” he asks, feigning innocence.

Steve opens his mouth, ready to pounce, but is interrupted by the waitress.

“Hey Stevie, Sa,” she says softly, timid, with a nervous smile and a little wave. “Hello Your Highness, Princess,” she goes on with a low curtsey. “What can I get for the four of you tonight?”

“Oh, no, no, none of that, please,” Bucky chuckles and blushes, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “It’s not necessary. James and Natasha are fine with us. Would I be able to see your wine list please?” He feels himself slipping into that Prince James mask and he mentally kicks himself for it. That’s not the side of him Steve is going to fall in love with, and Becca’s words echo in his mind. _No one wants to know Prince fucking James. He’s boring._

“Oh, uh, of course your- uh, James,” she lets out a little nervous giggle and hands him the list. “How’s your ma, Stevie?” she asks as Bucky thanks her and glances over their selection of wines.

“Hangin’ in there,” he replies with a small shrug. “How’s your dad?”

Natasha feigns disinterest in their conversation but Bucky can sense how intently she’s listening as she looks over the menu. Bucky’s not the only one good at wearing masks. After a moment the conversation tapers off and everyone places their orders, Bucky adding on two bottles of an expensive wine he knows will go well with everyone’s meals. Sam teases him about it ruthlessly, despite an elbow in the side from a blushing Steve, but Bucky just grins and insists he can thank him for it later.

 

The food is amazing and the wine is perfect (not that Sam would ever admit it. At least not to Bucky’s face). The conversation stays light and easy and Both Bucky and Steve’s cheeks are tinted pink through most of the meal. Well, okay, mostly Bucky, who trips over his words and gets caught staring at Steve for just a little bit too long. More than once. By the time the plates are being cleared and dessert is being discussed, Bucky’s wishing he could rewind and start the night all over again. He doesn’t want it to ever end.

And then he starts to panic. What if Steve doesn’t agree to a second date? What if he really isn’t having a great time and he’s secretly hating the whole thing and just wishing for it to all end so he can go home and- and- and-

“So what’s it like, really?” Sam asks Natasha, pulling Bucky from his spiraling panicky thoughts. Sam leans back in his chair and laces his fingers behind his head.

“What do you mean?” she asks, leaning forward onto her elbow on the table, eyebrows raised curiously and grinning, amused. “What’s what like really?”

“Oh, you know, what we were talking about earlier. Going from being common folk like us,” he motions between himself and Steve (who flushes again and elbows him in the ribs, tries to shut him up), “to being royalty. Not tryin’ to be rude or nothin’, just genuinely curious.”

But Tasha just chuckles and shakes her head. “Oh, I mean, it wasn’t that big of an adjustment, really. I don’t think it would be fair of me to try and say. It was different for me.” She explains, “I was already kind of accustomed to the life, you know. Or, well, a lesser version of it at least. My parents were the King and Queen’s favorite chefs, I hung out with Bucky and Becky all the time. You know,” her eyes light up and she laughs at a recalled memory, “the little princess used to give me etiquette lessons, believe it or not. And then I’d go home and show off for my mom. So, you know, it really wouldn’t be same for someone like you,” she motions toward Steve, a knowing smirk on her lips. “I still lived the palace life, just maybe not quite as exquisitely.”

Sam looks surprised and, frankly, impressed as he sits up a little straighter. “I guess I didn’t think of it like that,” he admits. “I kind of just assumed the help would be living off scraps in some rickety ass houses somewhere.”

Bucky huffs a little, indignant, even as Steve swats at his friend and tries to shush him. The prince slouches in his chair a little and mumbles,” Damn, nice to know how badly you think of my family. Geez, of course we fucking take good care of our people.”

Sam and Steve exchange glances that Bucky can’t quite read. He opens his mouth to go on but is interrupted by Jay Rheaume – a man he knows as a notorious reporter, always rude and hostile, twisting words and facts, whatever he needs to make his stories whatever he wants them to be. He may be in normal street clothes, but Bucky knows that face anywhere.

“Excuse me, Prince James,” he says, shoving his phone in Bucky’s face, recorder rolling, “could I just ask you a couple of questions real quick?”

Natasha tenses next to him, ready to kick his ass (or at least threaten), to do whatever it takes to get rid of him, but Bucky just looks up at him incredulously and says, “No, you cannot. As you can clearly see I’m trying to enjoy a meal with lovely company who deserves much better than to have to put up with the likes of you and your insufferable questions. And how dare you think yourself high enough that you could even come over here and so rudely interrupt us like this.”

Sam and Steve simply exchange looks, but Natasha just snickers at his side, something she knows will just egg him on.

“That’s actually what I wanted to ask you about,” Jay barges right on ahead. “Is it true you’re courting a peasant?” Steve scoffs indignantly and Sam looks like he’s about to hop across the table and pummel his ass, but the reporter either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “How do your parents feel about that?” he urges. “How do _you_ feel knowing you’re shaming your entire bloodline and the throne, at that? Maybe the entire country, even.”

And that’s enough of that. Bucky slams his hands on the table as he pushes himself to his feet. The people around them are recording and snapping pictures and whispering, but no one makes a move to stop him or seems to want to speak up for either side as Bucky grabs the reporter by his collar and gets right up in his face.

“The only peasant here is you,” he hisses through clenched teeth. He can see fear in the guy’s eyes now. “I said it politely, and now I’m not going to be so nice. Fuck. Off. You will not disrespect him, me, my family, the people here, _or_ the people of _my fucking country_ like this _ever again_. Do you understand me?” Jay’s shaking a little now as he nods quickly, eyes wide. “Good. Now pay your bill and get the hell out of here before you find out if any of those nasty little rumors you love to start about my family are true.”

And as Jay scurries off, the prince drops back into his chair, sighing heavily and slouching as he runs a hand over his face. The rest of the restaurant is dead silent.

“James,” Natasha urges him quietly, nudging him gently and already sending more of those rapid fire texts even as she’s fighting back a smirk, “we should really get out of here.” Bucky has no doubt those texts are her already working on damage control. He can’t wait to see what the headlines will be like in the morning when the videos get out.

He glances up and around the room at all the gawking faces. No one is even trying to be subtle about it anymore. He sighs again. “Jesus Nat, I can’t let the date end like this,” he mumbles. “We were gonna get dessert and everything, Christ.”

“Oh, what? You think I didn’t have a backup plan?” she asks him, an eyebrow quirked. “I didn’t say the date was over, I said we should leave. I think if we head back to the palace you’ll find a flawless dessert waiting for you in the gardens.”

“I love you,” Bucky says, perking up. He grabs her face and presses a kiss to her cheek. “You’re the best sister ever.” He turns his attention to Steve and Sam, a hopeful smile on his face. “I’m _so_ sorry about all of that. Let’s get out of here?”

Steve, who up until this point had been having his own hushed conversation with Sam, eyes him warily for what feels like forever before finally giving a little nod. “Yeah, okay,” he says, but that smile doesn’t quite find its way back to his face.

The owner apologizes profusely as they pay and make their way out, but Bucky just clasps her hands in his and assures her that he doesn’t hold it against her. It’s not her fault, after all. His smile is kind as he thanks her for the wonderful food and promises to be back again soon. Then they’re all climbing into Bucky’s car, Steve taking Natasha’s seat up front while Sam slots in next to the redhead in the back.

 

The entire ground floor is blessedly empty when they get back to the palace. Bucky’s sure he has Natasha to thank for that one. Yet again.

“Why don’t you two go on ahead?” she says to him, linking one arm with Sam’s and gesturing toward the back of the palace where the gardens are. “I’ll show Sammy around a bit and we’ll catch up with you later.” With that she throws him a wink and bumps her hip against Sam’s.

Steve flushes and flashes his friend an uncertain look. But one glance at Bucky and he smiles and nods, if not a little timidly now, still a little unsure. “Okay,” he says, more to Sam than anyone, then turns to the prince again. “I believe you promised me dessert and flowers.”

Bucky chuckles and nods, wrapping an arm around the blond’s shoulders and pulling him close, trying to soothe his nerves. “I believe I did,” he says. “Let’s go.”

He gives a brief ( _very_ brief) tour of the floor and the rooms they pass as he leads Steve through the palace. But, frankly, he’s beyond excited to see what kind of setup Natasha’s cooked up (okay, okay, so he’s sure Becca probably had something to do with it too) and so he kind of rushes them along. Just a little. After all, there will be plenty of time for tours later, after dessert. Or, you know, next time, or after they’re married.

They make their way out back to find the extensive gardens strung up with fairy lights, drape to form a canopy high above the flowers and woven through the trees. In the center there’s a large gazebo with a table for tea time and boring things like that. The whole thing has been decorated with enough lights of its own so that even at this late hour it’s bathed in the perfect amount of warm light.

Set up around the table are ice pails with a wide selection of drinks. On the table lies an array of desserts ranging from cakes and pastries to chocolates from molds and spun sugars. And, Bucky notices, only two place settings. That one was definitely Natasha’s doing, the saint. He’s sure she has another table set up around a tree somewhere for her and Sam. Somewhere close enough to be seemed socially acceptable and not at all scandalous on Bucky and Steve’s behalf, but far enough away to finally give them a little bit of privacy and time alone. He definitely owes her big for all of this.

“How in the hell did you manage to pull something this… _extravagant_ off so quickly?” Steve asks, disbelieving, as they step into the circle of lights.

Bucky lets out a thoughtful hum and pulls the blond’s chair out for him, grinning as he replies, “You know, thinking back on it, I’m pretty sure Natasha’s had this planned and the chefs on standby, like, all night.” He laughs and squeezes Steve’s shoulders gently as he sits down. “She may have warned me earlier that the restaurant might not have been the best idea.”

Steve huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes fondly as he lets Bucky push his chair in for him. “Well, I hope you’re at least planning on giving them a day off after stress like that and all of this,” he says, motioning toward the ridiculous amount of sweets piled up on the table.

“Definitely,” Bucky laughs, taking the seat next to Steve’s. He smiles over at the blond and works up the nerve to take Steve’s hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. “So,” he starts, looking up at him through long lashes, “what do you think we should try first?”

 

*

 

Being at the palace is always a weird experience for Steve. Not that anything particularly weird happens (at least not weird for the palace, Bucky maintains), but just weird in that being there at all is an experience Steve never thought he’d have, talk about visiting regularly and (while he still won’t really talk about it yet, at least not with Bucky) the prospect of moving in there some time in the near future.

Bucky knows that being in the palace is weird for Steve, because Steve has said as much. Every single time he comes to visit. And they’ve been dating for a while now. (Bucky secretly finds it adorable.)

“This is _still_ so weird,” Steve mumbles, shaking his head and laughing to himself. Right on cue. He toes out of his shoes and crouches down as Micho makes an appearance, mewling softly and rubbing himself against Steve’s leg. “Hello sweetheart,” Steve coos, scratching under his chin.

Bucky had been right on the nose about that one. Steve had admitted that he was definitely more of a dog person, but he is downright in love with the palace cat.

“You know what’s weird,” Bucky asks with a smirk as he leans down to give the cat some extra attention. Steve lets out a curious hum, so Bucky goes on, laughing, “Seeing you clean for once. And in clean _clothes_ , no less!”

Steve lets out a loud laugh that startles the cat into running away and narrows his eyes playfully. He pauses for a second, no doubt contemplating all the ways he could come back to that and exactly which one to choose, before settling on, “You’re the worst. You know that? Spoiled little prince who doesn’t have to get his pretty little hands dirty,” he teases, but Bucky knows he doesn’t actually mean it.

Bucky laughs as he straightens, holding out a hand to help the blond up. “Awh, you think my hands are pretty?” he jokes, batting his lashes melodramatically. “And now come on, the worst?” he asks as he leads Steve back to the dining room. “Is that any way to talk to the guy who slaved over a hot stove all day for you?”

“Well I wasn’t talking about the chef,” Steve teases, smirking, as he takes Bucky’s hand in his, lacing their fingers.

“Oh-ho-ho no,” Bucky says, still laughing as he points a finger in the blond’s direction. “ _I_ made dinner tonight, my sun and sky.”

Steve gasps melodramatically and clutches his chest with his free hand, fighting a fresh bout of giggles. “ _What_? The _prince_? Soiling his precious hands in the kitchen like a _commoner_? Why I never!”

Bucky’s gasping for air he’s laughing so hard as he nudges the other man into his seat. “Oh my god,” he manages to get out, “shut up.”

Thanks to some _very_ careful timing the food is still piping hot and the drinks ice cold as they finally settle in at the table.

“Did you really cook this?” Steve asks with a smirk, looking over his plate.

“I did,” Bucky replies, suddenly feeling nervous. “Well, go on, dig in,” he says with a quiet chuckle. What if Steve doesn’t like it? I mean, he learned to cook from Natasha, who learned from her parents. And they were the favorites for a reason. So he should be fine, right? He did a good job. Right? Ugh.

“Oh, my moon, you have such a way with words,” Steve teases him with a smirk and a giggle, dodging a swatting hand as he bats his lashes. When he manages to stop laughing he takes a bite and Bucky’s worried disappear instantly at the downright sinful noise that Steve lets out. “There is no _way_ you cooked this,” he teases, nudging Bucky under the table with a foot.

“You’d be surprised,” comes the voice from a doorway across the room. Bucky groans and rolls his eyes. “Our sweet little Jamie is a man of many talents,” Becca says with a smirk.

“Princess Rebecca,” Steve says, scrambling to get up and bow or something stupid and formal like that.

Bucky rolls his eyes again. “Don’t waste your energy,” he grumbles.

“Oh, no, please,” Becca says over him, “don’t get up on my behalf.”

Steve smiles at her and nods as Bucky raises an eyebrow, looking thoroughly unamused. “What do you want Becks?” he asks, leaning forward onto an elbow.

“What? I can’t just come by to see my big brother?” she asks, batting her lashes and flashing a grin he’s sure is supposed to look innocent. But, well, he knows her and Natasha too well to pull that one off.

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “Your intentions are never that pure. Try again.”

“I wanted to meet Steve?” she tries, finally starting to let the act slip.

“Closer, but still no,” Bucky replies, chuckling, as he leans back in his chair, arms tucked behind his head. “If you just wanted to meet him you would have waited until after dinner. Once more, with feeling,” he teases her, waving a hand like he imagines a director might.

Becca finally dissolves into a full-blown scowl, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine,” she says, popping a hip. “Whatever you made smells fucking awesome. I want some. Is there any left over in the kitchen?”

“No,” Bucky shoots back, pointing his fork at her. “There’s _just_ enough left for seconds. Steve’s not going hungry in the goddamn palace because _you_ were too lazy to find something else.”

Becca gasps, really cranking up the dramatics as she even fakes a sniffle and pouts. “So you’re just going to deny your baby sister a warm meal like that?” she asks.

Steve, muffling laughter, bats at Bucky’s arm and says quietly, “It’s fine Jamie. This looks like more than enough. And even if it’s not we could always find something else too.”

“See?” That perks Becca right the fuck up. “I _like_ him. Remember _sharing_ , Bucky? Nanny Tasia taught it to us when we were, like, two.”

Bucky snorts and shoots the blond a look. “Look at what you started,” he jokes, before turning his attention back to his sister. “I made this specially for Steve. Now go.” He gives her a pointed look and nods his head in the direction of the door.

She pouts again and narrows her eyes at him. “You could at least say please,” she grumbles as she turns on a heel and stomps out.

“Please,” Bucky calls after her half-heartedly, then, “If there’s leftovers later you can have those!”

Her hand pokes back in through the doorway just long enough to flip him off before disappearing again, and then her footsteps can be heard fading down the hall.

Bucky groans and lets his head thunk back against the back of his seat. “So that was _Becca_ ,” he says with a melodramatic sigh.

“You’re such a meanie,” Steve teases him, laughing. “I like her.”

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he asks, “Do you have any siblings?”

Steve smirks and leans across the arms of their chars to press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “No, I do not.”

 

*

 

“I’m going to propose,” Bucky announces to his family a few nights later over dinner. He and Steve have been dating for a while now and he thinks if he waits any longer he might just implode.

George raises an eyebrow, amused and if Bucky didn’t know any better he’d say impressed. Though at what he wouldn’t even begin to guess. Bucky knows his father didn’t think this would ever work out, but part of him thought maybe he wished it wouldn’t. And maybe he’s just happy that his son didn’t get his heart broken or something. Whatever. Freddie smiles from ear to ear and clasps her hands while Becca squeals and giggles and bounces excitedly in her seat.

“Does that mean we’re going to throw a ball?” she asks.

“Yes, I’d say it does,” George says with a smile. “We’ll meet his mother, and the press will be there, of course.” Bucky rolls his eyes at that – he knows Steve is going to fucking hate it – but despite all that he can’t keep the smile off his face.

“Did you already buy the ring?” Becca asks, practically vibrating in her seat. “Can I see it? I can’t believe you went without me!”

“Hey, hey, slow your roll,” Bucky says, laughing, hands up in defense. “No, I don’t have a ring yet. But I have an idea of what I want. I was going to go to the jeweler first thing in the morning.”

“And what about food?” his mother asks, almost as excited as Becca. “What kind of stuff does he like dear? You said his mother is sick? Is there anything she can’t eat? Oh, we’ll have to meet with the chefs to put together a menu,” she rambles, thinking and planning aloud. “Oh, there’s so much to plan! And then a wedding after!” And, geez, Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen his mother quite so happy before.

 

The next morning Bucky’s sitting outside the jeweler’s door, waiting with rough sketches in his hands the moment they open. He spends nearly an hour there, building more clean, detailed sketches, talking and laughing and generally getting acquainted. When he finally leaves, it’s happy in the knowledge that she’ll make his vision come to life. Without a doubt.

He intends to quickly stop by the flower shop on his way to Shield, but he ends up sitting there making plans with Mrs. McCarthy’s daughter for twenty minutes before he realizes how much time has passed. He picks up a small bouquet because, hey, it’s become tradition by now, and then finally makes his way to the glassworks shop.

“Oh no,” Sam crows, eyebrows raised, the second the bell dings above his head. “What could you _possibly_ be planning _now_ loverboy?”

Bucky snorts and grins and rolls his eyes fondly. “Go get Steve and you’ll find out,” he says.

Sam scoffs, but he’s smiling as he pushes himself away from the counter. “Yeah, yeah. But you better not be trying to whisk him away for a romp around the city or something. He’s got orders to finish first.”

“No whisking or romping today, I promise,” Bucky says around a fit of laughter, holding his hands up. “But, you know, Barton manages to be here and awful lot and still get his shit done back at his shop,” he teases, motioning toward the blond perched precariously on the stool behind the counter.

“That’s cuz I’m good with time management,” he quips with a lopsided grin and a cheeky wink.

“That’s cuz your apprentice just graduated,” Bucky quips back as he leans against the counter. “And, hey, what exactly do you think you’re trying to say about my Stevie?”

“What he’s trying to say is that I get more business than him,” Steve teases his friend, ruffling his hair as he walks passed him. He rounds the counter, wiping his face and hands with a rag, and comes to stop in front of Bucky, just a little too close to be socially acceptable to traditionalists. But hey, if dating the Prince doesn’t come with perks like this then what’s the point, right? He lets out a happy little hum and mumbles a,” hey,” as he leans up and presses a kiss to the corner of the brunet’s mouth.

“Hey,” Bucky mumbles back, wrapping an arm around the smaller man’s waist.

“Hey, if you get more business than me,” Clint goes on, still in their original conversation, pointing a finger at Steve, “that’s only cuz we’re in a time of piece.” Then he points to Bucky, palm opening. “Hey! I guess we’ve got you guys to thank for that one!”

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes fondly, waving a dismissive hand. He hears Sam smack his forehead somewhere to his right, but he can’t bring himself to pull his eyes from Steve’s.

“So,” Steve starts, reaching around him to pull the flowers from his hand. He lets out a little happy noise as he smells them, then continues, “I’m assuming there was an actual reason you felt the need to shop up without any warning and hand deliver these.”

The prince looks sheepish at that, letting his fingers drag along the small of his back as he takes a step backwards to properly look at him. “Do I really need a reason to come say hello to the light of my life?” he asks, grinning, and leans back against the counter again.

“Now you sound like your sister,” Steve teases him, smirking even as he points an accusing finger.

“At work, yes,” Sam says, looking unamused. Bucky knows by now it’s all for show. Sam still gives him a hard time whenever they’re in the same room, but Steve assures him that he’s actually really warmed up to him. Likes him, even.

Bucky laughs and shakes his head a little, smoothing his hands over the front of his shirt. “Alright, alright, I did have ulterior motives,” he admits, grinning. Steve lets out a knowing hum and pops a hip as he waits for the brunet to go on. “So we’ve been dating for a while now, as you know.” Sam snorts at that and Bucky shoots him a look. “And in noble families that would normally mean it would be time to throw a big fancy ball and have our parents meet, ya know, formally and all that.”

Steve looks unsure but Bucky takes a step forward again, cupping his face in his hands and leaning down to press an assuring kiss to his lips. “Now, look, I know you’re not bit on that kind of stuff,” he says, “but it won’t be that bad. I promise. I told my parents it can’t be too big and all that. I’m dialing them back. But my mom is talking about next Friday. Would that be okay with you guys?” He meets Steve’s eyes briefly before sparing a glance over his shoulder to both Sam and Clint. They both look surprised but he gets a thumbs up from each of them.

Steve, on the other hand, still doesn’t look quite convinced, but he smiles softly and gives a nod. “Yeah, okay, I guess. I’ll have to double check with ma, but I’m pretty sure it won’t be a problem,” he says, his free hand coming to rest on Bucky’s hip as the fingers of the other stroke gently over the stems of the flowers. “Nothing too fancy, though, okay?” And when he laughs, it’s nervous. “You _know_ what my only suit looks like.”

Bucky laughs and tips his head to the side, studying the blond. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, already mentally making a list of options to have sent over with his tailor. Oh, and he’ll have to send some things over for Sarah too, definitely. And for Sam… and Clint… Okay, so maybe he’s going to go a little overboard with this thing. But hey, you only get engaged once. Hopefully.

“Okay,” Steve says, dragging out the word as he eyes him suspiciously. Bucky has a feeling he has an idea of what’s going on in his head. “Alright,” he says anyway, “then we’ll be there.”

 

*

 

The morning of the ball Bucky races around the palace like a maniac. He’s half-dressed, his tie draped over his bare shoulders and his pants unbuttoned. At one point he wants to get Natasha’s opinion on his choice of shoes, so he’s caught wandering around with two different ones on. The purpose of which he completely forgets the second he walks passed and catches sight of the half-decorated ball room. He immediately steps in and starts ordering people around, still half-naked. Everything has to be perfect for tonight and, while he trusts the decorators and his mother, he can’t help but want to oversee everything. By the time Natasha shows up to usher him back to his room, he’s down to one shoe and he’s not entirely sure how it got that way or where the other, mismatched shoe went.

“Bedroom, _now_ ,” is her order with her hand on her chest. “I have been looking for you _everywhere._ Becca couldn’t find you, your phone was back in your room, she was _freaking_ out.” Her free hand points to the housing wing and she raises her eyebrows at him sternly. “Come on, look at you.  You’re a train wreck James Barnes. Let’s go.”

Bucky chuckles sheepishly and hangs his head as he allows her to corral him back to his bedroom.

“I don’t know what the hell’s got you so freaked out,” she says as he finishes getting dressed. She refused to leave, insisting that he clearly needed babysitting if he was ever going to make it to the party at all.

“You really don’t know?” he asks her skeptically. “What if he says no Tasha? He knows if he says yes he’ll be a prince and then eventually a king and you know he’s never wanted anything like that. You know enough about him to know that. He was totally happy being a glassblower his whole life. Marrying someone like me was, like, his _worst_ nightmare.” Now that he’s successfully worked himself into a panic again he lets Natasha push him down into his desk chair so he can catch his breath. He runs a hand through his hair and tries to will his chest to loosen.

“I mean, maybe,” she starts, sitting on his bed and taking her hands in his. “But, look, plans change and life is crazy. He knows that. And he knew when he said yes to you exactly what he was potentially setting himself up for in the future. He _knew_ when he said yes to you that if things went well this is where it would end. He knew that if he fell in love with you, _this is where it would end_. That’s _probably_ why he pushed you away at first, honestly. But he did James, he fell in love with you. And he’s not stupid enough to give that up over some silly plans he probably made as a teenager.”

Bucky finally looks up and meets her eyes, soothing in their familiarity, and his voice is small as he asks, “You really think he loves me?”

Natasha’s smile is soft and warm and fond, open and genuine in a way it isn’t often. She reaches a hand out and rests it on his knee, squeezing it gently as she replies, “I _know_ it.”

 

The morning had dragged on, even in Bucky’s half-manic, frantic, scatter-brained state. But now, as he stands at the top of the stairs, watching the ballroom fill with people, he finds himself wondering where he whole day went. He’s not quite ready for this part yet, not sure enough in himself. This spiral of doubt quickly has him second-guessing _every_ choice he’s made for the night, from the decorations to the food, to his outfit and the eyeliner he’d let Becca put on him. He tugs his hair free from the elastic, only to put it back up thirty seconds later, only to repeat the process all over again.

“You doing okay?” Natasha asks after about the third time, linking her arm with his and pulling him from his thoughts. She holds out a champagne flute, but Bucky waves it off.

“I’ll be better once he gets here,” he replies, forcing a smile as she gently squeezes his arm.

“Well, thankfully for you then, I heard he just arrived,” she says.

She nods toward the entrance at the far end of the room and he spots the small group just as they make it through the doors. Sarah and Steve are at the front, talking in hushed tones. Behind them trails a positively awestruck Sam and a giddy looking Clint. They all look _amazing_ in their new clothes and he’ll have to send his tailor on a very nice vacation very soon. The sight of Steve in that perfectly tailored suit is totally worth all the half-hearted bitching he’d gotten from the blond about it. He presses a kiss to his sister’s cheek and she pats his arm in response before he bolts down the stairs and across the room to meet the group.

“Hey!” he calls, breathless, as he skids to a stop in front of them. He’d run so fast they hadn’t even made it half-way across the room yet.

“I’ll tell you what Barnes,” Sam says, still looking around with an impressed grin, “you sure know how to throw a damn party.”

“Awh, gee, thanks,” Bucky replies, batting his lashes. “You know Wilson, I think that’s gotta be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Sam mutters, patting the prince’s shoulder as he walks passed him and asks, “Now where’s the food?”

“Good lookin’ out dude,” Clint says with a thumbs up and a quick thump on the back as he trails after Sam.

“This place is so beautiful,” Sarah says dreamily, still half-chuckling after Sam and Clint as she steps forward to pull Bucky into a hug. “You look absolutely stunning dear. How are you doing?” she whispers the last question into his ear and as he pulls back he gives her a wobbly thumbs up.

“Mom’s always dreamed of coming to a big fancy party here,” Steve says with a crooked grin, giving his mom a sideways hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Well then, maybe I can impress _one_ of you tonight then,” the brunet replies with a nervous laugh.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us dearest brother” Becca asks, suddenly in his ear, making him jump.

“Jesus,” he breathes as Becca cackles, a hand on his chest as he cranes his neck to look at her. “Where the fuck did you come from?” He spots Natasha and his parents not far behind and sighs heavily, turning back to Steve. Well, at least they’re getting this part over with, he guesses. “You ready?” he asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” and it’s the blond’s turn to laugh nervous as he straightens out his suit coat and his posture.

“Mom, dad,” Bucky gestures as he greets them, lets his mom wrap him in a brief hug. He turns to Sarah and Steve and flashes a smile that he hopes comes across more reassuring and less nauseous than he feels. “Sarah, Steve, this is my mom, Winnifred, my dad, George, and my sisters, Rebecca and Natasha.” Then he looks to his parents and gives his father in particular a pointed look. “Guys, this is Sarah and Steve Rogers.”

The two families exchange pleasantries and while Sarah shakes his mom’s hand she adds, “There’s also two other little troublemakers running around here somewhere, no doubt eating all your food.” Both women laugh at that. “They’re not blood, but they might as well be, you know.” And Freddie nods understandingly.

George excuses himself as quickly as possible, using the excuse of being ‘the King’ and having to ‘make his rounds’. “Politics and all that,” he says. Bucky isn’t sure if he’s more uncomfortable talking to them because he has no idea what to talk about with ‘commoners’ or because now he _really_ has to face up to his son’s blatant homosexuality.

“Samuel and Clinton are your other troublemakers, right?” Freddie asks, an amused smirk on her lips. “James as told us all about them.”

“That’s them,” Sarah says, laughing. “But don’t let them hear you call them by those names.”

“Oh, I know all about that. You should hear little Becky when I, god forbid, call her Rebecca!” his mother muses, drawing a groan from Becca. “Are you hungry dear?” she asks, linking her arm’s with Sarah’s and whisking her away across the room.

In the chaos Becca and Nat have disappeared into the crowd, but Bucky’s sure they haven’t strayed far. Can’t eavesdrop if they’re _too_ far away.

“You know,” Bucky laughs, laughing as he’s finally able to pull the smaller man into his arms, “that went even better than I was expecting.”

“I thought I told you nothing too fancy,” Steve hisses at him through a smile, though he allows the prince to pull him close anyway.

“Oh save it,” Bucky replies with a laugh, kissing him softly. He can’t help but feel giddy knowing that after tonight he’ll be able to kiss the blond wherever he likes, whenever he likes. “I already heard the speech, and you heard mine. Let’s just have fun tonight, okay?”

Steve huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes melodramatically, but he nods and steals another kiss from the brunet’s lips and lets Bucky drag him off to the dance floor.

 

Half way through the night, after dancing and some drinks and a little bit of food, Bucky takes Steve’s hands and drags him back into the center of the room under the pretense of more dancing. When they get there, however, he turns to the blond and takes both of his hands, lacing their fingers together.

“Steve,” he starts. He drops down to one knee and Steve’s eyes go wide as the whole room goes silent and still, turning to watch. “Stevie, my sun, the light of my life,” Bucky says, and as he does he slips the ring from his inside jacket pocket. It came out perfectly, exactly how he’d imagined it. He holds up the ring, gold, a delicate little sun (nothing big or flashy. He knows Steve would have hated that) with a small yellow gemstone in the center, and goes on, “It’s been one hell of an adventure courting you, learning your heart.” Cameras flash around the room and Steve’s cheeks fill with color. “And I am eternally grateful that you let me in. I love you Steve, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Learning from you, ruling beside you when that time comes, getting sassed and bossed around by you.” Exactly as planned, everyone laughs at that and he can see some of the tension release from Steve’s shoulders. “Hey, what can I say? I guess I’m a glutton for punishment,” he teases with a little wink and that draws more laughter. “So, what do you say Stevie? Will you marry me?”

And it’s like an eternity in those few seconds before he answers. Not a person in the room blinks or breathes or even thinks of moving. Until Steve, smiling sweet and sure and just a little teary-eyed, nods. “Yes,” he says, a laugh bubbling up from his throat. “Yes James, of course.”

The room erupts in cheers and the cameras go wild again as Bucky surges up, pulling Steve into his arms and kissing him fiercely.

 

*

 

They’re lying on Bucky’s bed, the brunet’s phone open as they browse ideas for their wedding. Steve is tucked into his fiancé’s side, an arm draped across his waist and his head on his chest. Bucky’s sure Steve can hear his heart racing like it always does when Steve’s around. Especially lately. Especially when he’s close like this, in his arms. It’s new and intimate in ways he never imagined something so innocent could ever be and he absolutely loves it. He loves every second he gets to spend with Steve. Those are the times when everything in his world just feels right.

“Do we have to have such a big wedding?” the blond whines, but it’s playful as he nuzzles into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

The prince chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair, locking his phone and setting it to the side on his nightstand. “Well my love, the light of my life, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m _kind of_ the prince,” he teases, scratching lightly as Steve’s scalp. “You know, firstborn, the only son and all that. So, unfortunately, that is one aspect in which we don’t actually get much say.” He kisses the top of his head softly before running a hand down his back, trying to ease his mind. “Like, just trying to warn you, I’m pretty sure half the country is going to be there,” he jokes.

Steve groans and wiggles the rest of the way on top of his fiancé, hiding his face in his chest now. “You know, my sweet, sweet moon,” he mumbles into his shirt, “if I was marrying some nice girl from down the street like I was supposed to, barely anyone would even be there. It would be nice and quiet, in someone’s backyard. No fuss, no crowds, nothing. Just like God intended,” he jokes.

Bucky laughs and runs his hands down Steve’s back, then back up again under his shirt, massing small circles into the skin. He feels bad, really, to be stressing Steve out like this. And if it was up to him, they would do something small in the gardens just like that. “Well,” he says, “I mean, I guess we could always just run away and get married,” he jokes.

“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Steve asks him, an unimpressed smirk on his lips as he finally pushes himself up to his elbows to meet the brunet’s eyes.

The prince laughs and rolls his eyes fondly, leaning up to steal a quick kiss. “Because you don’t want to give the King a heart attack and kill him,” he jokes.

“More like because I didn’t think it would be considered a legitimate option.” Laughing, Steve settles back onto his fiancé’s chest and presses soft kisses along his neck. “Maybe we could just find, like, a compromise,” she says between kisses, mostly just thinking aloud. “We could have a small ceremony, just us and our families, only very close friends. Then we could just throw a huge party after for the whole damn country to come to.

Bucky tilts his head to the side, lightly scratching short nails down the blond’s back. He lets out a thoughtful hum and his voice is starting to get breathy as he murmurs, “You know, something like that _might_ actually be possible.”

“You think you could get your dad to agree?” Steve asks, nipping gently at a collar bone.

“Maybe,” Bucky muses, freeing his hands from Steve’s shirt to tangle in his shaggy hair instead. “Especially if we could work something out – like a livestream or something. Something where everyone who can’t be there can still see the wedding, you know?”

Steve groans a little and pushes himself up again specifically so the prince can see the unamused look on his face. “That’s barely better,” he says.

Bucky chuckles and pulls him down for a kiss, arching his back so his hips press up into his fiancé’s. “It’s way better,” he tries, grinning and waggling his eyebrows when Steve pulls back again. The blond’s got an eyebrow cocked and he doesn’t look convinced. “I mean, less people physically there means less eyes on you. Physically, I mean. If it’s just a livestream you won’t even know they’re watching. It’ll be just like the small little thing you’d get to have with any other boy from town. Now get back down here and kiss me again.”

Steve laughs and rolls his eyes again. “We’ll talk about it,” he says, letting Bucky pull him back down for a heated kiss. When they finally separate again for a breath he chuckles and teases, “Does the rest of the palace know how indecent you are? Hmm? Having a boy alone in your room before marriage and all.”

Bucky chuckles and slides his hands down to grab his ass, canting his hips up again and drawing a moan from the smaller man. “We’re engaged,” he reasons half-heartedly, a smirk on his face. “And anyway, you didn’t _really_ think it was a coincidence everyone was leaving us alone, did you? It’s fine.”

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, letting his eyes slip shut as his hips grind back instinctively, his head thunking forward onto the brunet’s chest. “Mmm you say that, until we get caught.”

“Somehow,” Bucky gropes him roughly on the word, drawing another moan from the blond, “I think they’ll forgive me.” He leans up and bites gently at the crook of Steve’s neck, careful not to leave a mark. “You think you’re willing to risk it?”

“You are _so_ gonna pay for this,” Steve says with a strained laugh as he pushes fervently at the hem of the prince’s shirt.

 

*

 

“Bucky! Bucky wake up!” Natasha shouts, too close to his face. “James Buchanan Barnes!” She’s at his feet now, ripping his blanket off of him and dropping it onto the ground. “Wake the fuck up!”

“Wha-?” he mumbles, rolling over and tugging his pillow over his head.

Natasha lets out a frustrated growl and flicks on the lights. Then she stomps over and tugs his pillow from him too, chucking it across the room. “Get up! Get dressed! We have to go! _Now!”_ She rushes around the room while he tries to come to, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and socks and a shirt for him to put on. They don’t have time for this!

“Don’ wanna,” Bucky grumbles, rolling onto his back. “Wha’ time ‘s it?”

 _“We have to go!_ ” she shouts, enunciating every word as she leans over his face. Her phone is still clutched in her hand as she gestures with it.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Bucky slurs, pushing himself upright and rubbing at an eye sleepily. He glances from her to the clothes she’s piled up at the foot of his bed and she lets out another little frustrated noise.

 

It’s 3 AM and now technically the goddamn day before their wedding by the time they get to the hospital. This had to happen today? Really? The nurses won’t tell him anything, but if their faces are anything to go by, they don’t have to. Their expressions say it all as he asks for Sarah Rogers and they give him a floor and a room number.

Bucky doesn’t have the time or patience to wait for the elevator tonight. He races up the stairs and down the hall, adrenaline coursing through him. He’s breathless as he stops in the doorway, his heart aching for fiancé the second he registers the sight in front of him. Sarah looks like she’s blissfully asleep, but Steve is gripping her hand, his forehead dropped to the bed as he cries, and Bucky knows better, knows it’s too late.

“I’m so sorry Stevie,” Bucky says, twisting his fingers together nervously as he steps into the room. Sam and Clint both shoot him appreciative looks and forced smiles from where they stand behind the blond.

Steve looks and his eyes are red and wet and puffy, his cheeks flushed. Guilt surges through him. He should have been here. He should have been here sooner. Why didn’t someone call him sooner?

“Don’t be,” Steve replies with a little shrug, letting his eyes drop back down to the hospital bed and his mother’s cold hand clutched in his. “It’s the cancer’s fault.”

“Cancer?” Bucky asks curiously, his brow furrowing, face scrunching up just a little. “Steve that… that can’t be right. Is that what they were treating her for? Maybe that’s why she didn’t get better. Cancer was wiped out ages ago. They fucked up Stevie, they-“

“Excuse me?” Steve snaps. He looks up again and when his eyes meet Bucky’s there’s fury and disgust in them.

Bucky shrinks back just a little, but goes on, still confused. “Y-Yeah,” he stutters out. “If they were treating the wrong thing, that could be why- The cure for cancer has been around for ages. The last recorded case was, geez, back before we were even born.”

Steve barks out a laugh, bitter and cruel, and spits out, “Is that what your fancy fucking private goddamn tutors taught you in your goddamn palace?”

Bucky flushes and tries to make himself smaller, doubt and fear and guilt and shame all coursing through him. “I, uh… I mean… uh, yeah…”

“Steve, don’t-“ Sam tries, but Steve cuts him off.

“Yeah well _they’re_ the ones who are fucking wrong! Jesus!” And then there’s that laugh again and Bucky feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“Steve, don’t take it out on him dude,” Sam tries again, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. But the blond just shrugs it off violently and clambers to his feet.

“This whole fucking _floor_ is cancer patients _your highness_.” He gestures wildly, arms outstretched, and Bucky flinches, the title stinging like a knife to his breaking heart. “Your teachers, your parents, everyone fucking _lied_ to you. People still die from cancer every fucking day! Just not _your_ people.” He spits the words like venom.

Steve words make Bucky feel numb. What else in his life has he been lied to about? What _really_ happened to Natasha’s parents? How many people are dying when they don’t have to?

Nat’s in the doorway now, ready to step in if necessary. But for now she just lets the scene play out, lets Steve get his heartbreak off his chest, pain and sympathy etched into her features.

“Why- Why would they do that?” Bucky’s eyes are wide and he feels lost. It’s like his whole world is crumbling around him and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He just wants to hold Steve in his arms until all this passes, but that’s clearly not an option. “I- I… I didn’t… Stevie, I swear I didn’t… didn’t know…”

“Of course you didn’t! You spent your whole life sitting pretty in that fucking palace, believed every fucking think they ever told you! Why would you care to fucking question them when nothing bad ever happened to you? You know what? Fuck you James Barnes! I’d rather die than marry you!”

Bucky stops breathing, his heart stops beating. For a second, time stops and those words just echo in his head. He had worked so fucking hard to earn Steve’s love, to prove to him he was genuine and true and that he deserved it. It had taken so long for Steve to let him in. He’d left himself open and bare and raw and bleeding, let Steve stomp all over his heart and soul, shatter him. And Steve had. But Steve had also finally seen him, _really_ seen him. He’d finally picked up all those little pieces and seen what made him tick and in the end he’d started to trust him, to love him. In the end he’d put all those little pieces back together and made Bucky whole again. It had taken so long… and now, just like that, he’s lost him again.

“Steve, you don’t mean that!” It’s Clint this time, eyes wide and tone exasperated. It’s all Bucky needs to snap him back into the here and now, and then his chest is aching, a pain like nothing he’s ever felt before.

But Steve just keeps shouting. “Yes I do!” he screams and yanks the ring from his finger, tossing it across the room at Bucky. “Fuck you James! I knew I should never have let you in! I knew this could never work! We’re from completely different worlds! I live in the real fucking world and you live in a goddamn fairy tale! Fuck you and your family and this goddamn government and, you know what? This whole fucking country while we’re at it! Go to hell! Get out, get out! GET OUT!” He picks up the closest thing he can find – a medical tray filled with long-abandoned supplies – and tosses it at the prince.

The brunet scrambles out of the way and, heart in pieces, eyes wet with tears, passed Natasha and out the door. The redhead lingers in the doorway for another minute, having a silent conversation with Sam while Bucky bolts down the hall. And to his credit, he makes it almost all the way to the elevator before collapsing to his knees with a sob. Back in the room Steve is still screaming after them and the small heel of Natasha’s boots click, irritated, as she makes her way toward her brother.

“Come on,” she says to him, tapping impatiently at his shoulder. Her voice is quiet and calm, but sharp as a blade- sharp as a scalpel. “James, get up. This is not the time or the place for this.”

“I don’t care!” Bucky sobs into his hands, curled up in on himself. He’s sure the whole floor is out of their rooms by now, staring, watching, maybe filming as the Prince breaks down in the middle of the hallway, in front of everyone. But he doesn’t care. Let them watch.

 

*

 

Bucky’s parents are wide awake and waiting for him when Natasha finally manages to drag him off the cold linoleum and back to the palace. The smell of coffee wafts through the rooms as his mother pulls him into her arms and holds him close. She strokes his hair and rubs his back, murmuring quiet comforts as Bucky feels tears threaten to fall again. They stay like that for a long moment before George clears his throat and Freddie finally backs away.

“I’m sorry for your loss, son,” the King says, solemn. “I know how fond of her you were, and what this means to Steven.”

Bucky doesn’t even realize that his fists are clenching at his sides, his jaw clenched, his chest tight and still aching. But suddenly anger is bubbling up in him like it’s contagious. “Did you know?!” he snaps before his father can say anything else.

George looks taken aback as he asks, “Did I know what son?”

“Did you know what it was? That she had _cancer_?” Bucky feels fresh tears down his cheeks but he doesn’t bother trying to stop them or wipe them away. “Did you know that the common people are still dying of things like cancer?”

George sighs heavily and lets his gaze drop, but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to argue or defend himself.

“We could have _saved her_ , dad! She could have lived! Steve didn’t _have_ to lose his mom! So you better fucking tell me that you didn’t know!”

George looks up, eyes pained and lips pursed, and he doesn’t have to say anything. His face says it for him.

“What else?” Bucky snaps. “What else are people dying of?! What else that we’ve _cured_?! What else are you _letting people_ die of?!”

“James,” George starts, stepping forward to rest a hand on his son’s shoulder. But Bucky just flings himself backward like he’s been burned, tripping over his own feet and nearly ending up on his ass in the process. The King sighs again and scrubs a hand over his face. “James, there are things in this world, in this position, that you’re just still too young to understand.”

“Did you know?” Bucky asks. He points an accusing finger, then drops it and paces, his hands coming up to clutch at his hair briefly before letting go and dropping them again.

“Sometimes being King means making tough choices,” George goes on. “I don’t expect you to understand yet, but-“

“ _Did you know?!_ ” Bucky shouts, each word slow and enunciated. He stops his pacing and turns to glare at his father.

“James Buchanan,” the King’s voice is more stern now, verging on angry. But he doesn’t know anger like Bucky now does and the prince cuts him off.

“Did you know what she fucking had?! I need to hear you say it! I need to hear you say that you just sat by and let my mother-in-law fucking die!”

“Yes!” George finally shouts, throwing his arms up in surrender. “Yes Bucky, I knew! I knew that it was cancer that she had!”

Bucky rushes forward, bunching his father’s shirt collar in his hands as he gets right up in his face. “Then why didn’t you fucking do anything?!”

His eyes are bloodshot and full of fire as they finally meet his father’s, tears streaming freely down his face again and for a second he thinks he just might actually hit him. Becca’s wandered into the room now, no doubt woken up by the shouting. But for a long moment no one moves except for Bucky’s chest heaving as he tries desperately to get air into lungs that don’t seem to want to work.

Finally, Bucky crowds impossibly closer into his father’s space and mutters through clenched teeth,” You could have saved her.” Then he shoves him away and storms off, shouting after himself, “It should have been you!”

 

*

 

Bucky refuses to see or speak to his parents after that. He even tries to keep Natasha and Becca out, but that’s not quite such an easy feat. He locks himself in his room and leaves Steve voicemails and sends him texts every other hour every day for he isn’t even sure how long. He’s lost track. That is, at least, uil Natasha takes his phone away, plucks it straight from his fingers.

“No!” Bucky cries, whimpering like a kicked puppy. His eyes are red-rimmed and Natasha isn’t really sure when the last time was that he’s slept or showered or eaten or stopped crying for that matter since this whole thing started.

“You can have this back when you stop behaving like a child,” she chides him, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Or you at least take a shower, for fuck’s sake.”

“Tasha, no! Please!” he begs, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. “Please Tasha! I have to tell him-! He has to know-!” _I’m sorry_ , he doesn’t say. _I love him_ , he doesn’t say.

Nat sighs and rests a hand on his head, effectively silencing him. “You have and he knows,” she assures him quietly. “You know how he is and you know that if you keep pestering him like this you’re only going to push him even further away. Give him space, give him time. And you’ll get _this_ ,” she holds his phone up and wiggles it in his face, “back when you think you can _control yourself_.”

A sob breaks from his lips and he makes a half-heartedly attempt to grab the device back as he flops back over onto the bed.

 

“Hey Sam. How’s Steve doing?” he hears Natasha ask softly, kindly, later that day.

He had reluctantly showered and was on his way to try and get his phone back. Now he’s just listening from the hallway outside her bedroom, desperate to hear any news on his sun and sky.

“Yeah,” she says a moment later with a little sigh, “he’s an absolute wreck too.”

And the Sam must be rambling on the other end or something because there’s radio silence for a full minute before her head pops around the corner, giving Bucky a pointed look. The prince jumps and clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle a startled scream. Okay, so she knew he was out there.

She just smirks and holds a hand over the microphone to hiss to him, “If you’re going to listen in you might as well just come in the room. Nosey.”

Bucky at least has the decency to look guilty as he follows her back into her bedroom. “To be fair,” he says, just above a whisper, “I was just coming to see you. I wasn’t trying to listen in. Originally.”

But Nat just waves a hand to shush him, nodding even though Sam can’t see it and letting out little hums of agreement. “Yeah, yeah, definitely. Sounds like a plan. Send me the details. I’ll make sure he’s there.”

“Make sure who’s where?” Bucky asks, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously. All it earns him is more hand waving in his direction.

“Yeah, yeah,” Natasha goes on. “Well, at least they’re on the same page there,” she snorts, pointedly rolling her eyes directly at her brother. “Okay Sam, thanks for the update. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

“I’m _not_ going to the funeral,” Bucky says matter-of-factly the second she hangs up the phone. He crosses his arms over his chest and flops onto her bed, pouting just a little. “He doesn’t want me there. He doesn’t want me anywhere near him ever again.”

“So?” she asks with a nonchalant little shrug as she perches herself delicately in her desk chair. Bucky snorts as she goes on, “He didn’t want you sending him flowers or gifts or showing up to his shop. You did _that_ anyway. He only thinks he doesn’t want you there Jamie. The fact of the matter is, he _needs_ you there. And that’s _all_ that matters.”

“He doesn’t _need_ me,” he scowls. “He never has and he never will.” Fresh tears spring up in the brunet’s eyes and he swears under his breath as he flops onto his back. “He threw the ring at me. He said he’d rather die! The wedding was canceled, relationship over. Becca can inherit the throne for all I care. I’ll never love again.”

“God, you’re so dramatic!” Natasha laughs and tossing something at him.

“Ow!” he shouts as it hits his fingers. “Hey! That hurt!” He bolts upright, pouting, and looks down to see what she’d thrown at him. His breath catches when he sees the ring, the subtle little sun around that flawless yellow gemstone. He can’t say he’s entirely surprised. “You… you stopped to get it,” he says, a smile spreading across his face that he’s sure looks more like a grimace as he clutches it in his hand.

“Of course I did,” Natasha replies quietly, reaching a hand out to rest over his knee. She offers him a rare supportive smile as she rubs his knee gently for a long minute. But then her grin turns a little more sinister and she pats his thigh. “So,” she says,” about that funeral.”

 

*

 

It takes Natasha and Becca both to dress Bucky on the day of the funeral. She drags him kicking and screaming (almost literally) out to her car and shoves him into the passenger seat. The entire car ride to the funeral home he’s pouting and sulking and petulant and when they get there, he refuses to go inside.

“I can’t Tasha, I just can’t,” he says, near tears. “I’m not ready.”

So instead, she sits in the car with him the entire time, texting updates to Becca and getting updates from Sam and Clint.

Sarah was Catholic, Steve had told him once, so the blond gives her a proper Catholic funeral, even if her faith was one of the few traits he would never share with her. When he had gotten his phone back, Bucky spent days calling every funeral home and cemetery in the county until he figured out which one Steve would be using. He’d paid for it all before Steve even got a chance to see the bill and sent along a dizzying amount of flowers for good measure. Sarah deserved them. Every single one. He knew the blond would be furious when he found out, but it was the least he could. It was the _right_ thing to do.

It was something he _needed_ to do.

Despite Bucky’s continued protests, Natasha follows the procession to the church. This time she manages to cajole him into getting out of the car for the mass.

“No one will even notice you’re there,” she says. “At the viewing everyone’s talking, at the mass they’re all just listening to the priest.” So he lets her drag him out of the car and into the church.

It seems like the entire town is there as he steels himself away to the back of the church, tucking himself into the furthest corner of the furthest pew from where Steve and his friends are. He sends up a silent prayer that Steve doesn’t look his way and see him. It feels appropriate.

The people around him recognize him, of course they do. But most just give a solemn nod in his direction, for both of his losses. His entire courtship had been publicized, the ‘scandal’ that it was. It was only fitting that that included the way Steve had called the whole thing off the day before and the Prince’s little breakdown over it. Of course everyone knew.

Bucky had half expected the people to hate him after the whole thing (which Natasha told him was stupid. “Why would they hate you, idiot?”). But everyone just flashed him sympathetic smiles and a few people from Sarah’s floor at the hospital – nurses and patients alike – came over and clasped his hands, whispered, “Bless you, Prince James,” and pressed kisses to his knuckles. They all knew how much Sarah had meant to him too, how much time he’d spent there with Steve. But he sure as hell doesn’t feel like he deserves their kindness and his heart breaks all over again.

He says his goodbyes, not only to his lost friend and would have been mother-in-law, but also to his lost love, in the back of that church, trying to make his peace, whispering along with every reiteration of the Lord’s Prayer.

The first time he does it Natasha looks over at him, eyebrows raised in surprise, and whispers, “Bucky? You’re Pagan.”

“I don’t think my own gods will mind,” he whispers back once the prayer is done. “It’s a show of respect Natasha. It’s for her.”

Natasha purses her lips and lets out a quiet hum, nodding once in understanding. She doesn’t say anything else for the entire rest of the service.

Bucky scurries out of the service, pulling Natasha along behind, just as it ends. Hopefully before Steve can look up or walk passed and notice him. Frankly, though, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that word had gotten around to him anyway. Sam and Clint had known he was coming, and if they hadn’t told him he’s sure the whispers of, “The Prince is here!” had worked their way up to the front pews long ago.

They stay back, waiting in the car, for everyone else to leave and then, once again, follow the precession. This time to the grave site.

Bucky lets himself dare to get a little closer during her Rite of Committal, eventually weaving his way into the second row of people surrounding her. The others make it easy, part like the red sea for him, these people that Sarah had known her whole life. The thought makes him feel sick to his stomach, feel dirty. He’s always known he was more than just some pompous, spoiled rich asshole of a prince, spitting on the common people and laughing as they did it. He’s met those princes. He _hates_ those princes. But right now, he feels like he’s one of them.

Sarah’s coffin is covered in mounds of flowers and Bucky feels the knot forming in his throat as he looks on. He spots Steve from across from him in the crowd and it only gets worse. Sam and Clint are on either side of him, each with an arm around him, and he stands tall.

He stands tall, or at least he tries, but Bucky knows him. He sees the broken little boy beneath that façade. He sees the red rims of his eyes, the bags underneath. He sees the way he sways on his feet, just slightly, steadied by his friends. He sees the gaunt of his cheeks and the catch of his breath and the pallor of his skin. Everyone around him whispers about how strong Steve is, but Bucky has never seen him look more small, look more… more weak.

His heart breaks again and again and all he wants to do is rush to him. All he wants to do is wrap the blond in his arms and kiss his face and tell him it will be alright. It doesn’t feel like it, but it will be alright. He wants to tell him that he will take care of him, will protect him. Tell him he loves him… But he can’t. He knows he can’t, that he won’t ever be able to again. He shouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Once the Rite is finished, a line forms so everyone can take a flower from the coffin. Then they all settle back into a crowd to watch it – to watch _her_ being lowered in the ground. The crowd only thins as they start filling the damn hole with dirt. Those that weren’t particularly close to the family start heading back to their homes, to their lives. Those are were start heading to a hall Bucky had anonymously arranged for a reception.

Against his better judgement, Bucky stays behind. He stays carefully tucked behind a wall of people, but for the first time all day Steve’s gaze shifts up and his eyes instantly lock with Bucky’s. Surprise is the first emotion that catches. It hangs there in those pained summer sky eyes. But then a range of others flash by so quickly Bucky can’t even make them all out before he settles firmly in the familiar embrace of anger.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?!” he snaps, startling everyone around them. His voice his hoarse and raw and cracks and again Bucky finds himself aching to reach out, to soothe him. But he knows it would be no use. Just as he had anticipated, his presence has only made things worse.

The people in front of Bucky widen their eyes in fear until they turn and realize exactly who the blond is shouting at. Smartly, they scurry aside so as to not get caught in the crossfire.

“Steve…” Cint starts, tired, sighing softly. But Steve cuts him off with a look.

“I asked you what you’re doing here,” he says sharply, his eye snapping back to meet Bucky’s again.

“I-I… I just…” Bucky stutters and stumbles, tripping over his words as his chest constricts. “I just… just wanted… to pay my respects… To say goodbye…” he finally manages to get out, timidly.

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s harsh and cruel, but with the motion Bucky can see how his hands are shaking. When was the last time he ate? Slept?

“Bullshit!” Steve spits. “If you really fucking cared, you would have done something. You would have saved her!”

Bucky feels the tears as they roll down his cheeks, searing hot against his skin, as his ribs threaten to crush his lungs, as his heart threatens to stop completely. _I didn’t know,_ he wants to say for the millionth time. _I would have. In a heartbeat, I would have. I didn’t know. I love you_ and _I’m sorry_ , he wants to say. But his lungs aren’t working and his mouth won’t move, so instead he just swallows hard and bears the burden of Steve’s hate.

“Steve!” Sam snaps, a hand tight on his friend’s shoulder. He hisses something in his ear that Bucky has no hope of catching, can only pray that it will soften Steve’s eyes.

All he can hear right now is his heart pounding in his ears as the world threatens to go black. Until Natasha is at his side, a hand on the small of his back, steadying him, and the world rushes back in.

“That’s _enough_ of this Steve,” she says coolly, if not a little harshly. It’s a tone Bucky’s familiar with, has heard a lot of lately. She rubs a thumb along his skin, trying to soothe her brother even as she scolds the other man. “You threw your little tantrum and we all humored you through it, but enough is enough. Look at what you’re doing to him Steve. He didn’t do this to you or to her. He wants to help, to comfort you, to support you. And all you’re doing is being cruel and hurting him and pushing him away. I know you love him, but now I’m really starting to question if you deserve him.”

Steve screams and the sound is feral and pained and he lunges, stopped only by the arms that now tighten around his waist.

“Natasha,” Bucky hisses at her, scared and timid, as he flinches.

But she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shrink, doesn’t back down. Instead she just fixes Steve with a look, expectant and challenging.

“Come on Natalia,” Bucky says meekly, taking her hand and tugging on it gently, desperately, as her and Steve continue to stare each other down. “Natalia please, let’s just go. I shouldn’t have come. I told you we shouldn’t come. Come on, please, let’s just go home.”

Natasha purses her lips, hesitating a moment, torn between wanting to give her brother what he needs and standing her ground. It takes another moment but eventually she gives a terse nod and turns on her heel, allowing Bucky to lead her away. Behind him, Bucky hears Sam and Clint calling out apologies and thanks after them, but he doesn’t turn back. He doesn’t want them to see the tears that stream freely down his cheeks.

“We shouldn’t have come,” he mutters to himself, over and over, like a prayer, as he climbs into the passenger seat of her car.

Natasha just sights heavily and revs the engine before speeding off.

 

*

 

Bucky doesn’t leave his room for days. Or maybe it’s weeks. Or maybe it’s months. He isn’t really sure. He stops making an effort to keep track, stops caring to. He doesn’t want to know how much time has passed with Steve in his life, without his sun and his sky. Instead he makes a conscious effort to avoid the things that would allow him to. He doesn’t turn on the TV or go on his computer, doesn’t check his phone. He’s pretty sure it’s dead by now anyway if Natasha’s hasn’t plugged the damn thing in to charge for him.

His heart continues to ache in his chest, a real, physical pain. Worse than the time Natasha bruised his ribs when they were sparring, worse than when he fell from the old willow in the gardens and broke his collarbone. He’s never felt anything like it and he vaguely wonders if this is what a heart attack feels like, if he’s going to die.

Natasha comes and goes, turning on a movie or reading a book while she sits with him. Sometimes her fingers race across her phone screen as she texts Sam or Clint. She knows it’s them by the way she scoffs and snorts, scowls and rolls her eyes. Sometimes she leaves the palace to meet them, though she never admits it. Not to him. Not that he asks.

His mother brings meals three times a day, tries to talk to him. He only hums or grunts in response and doesn’t ever eat much, if at all. He doesn’t sleep much either and after the first few days he’s never really more than half-awake anyway. His father stays away.

Becca brings him sweets and junk food, but he doesn’t give her any more of a response than he does their mother. Sometimes, when Natasha’s out of the palace, she’ll sit with him too, sketching. Sometimes she stands at the foot of his bed, hands on her hips, and glares at him.

“For the love of god or whatever, get the fuck _up_ James,” she says during one of those times, huffing out a sigh.

“Why?” he grumbles, face half buried in his pillow. “What’s the point?”

“He’s going to come back, jesus. Just give him some time,” she insists, rolling her eyes. “But for fuck’s sake don’t put your whole damn life on hold while he takes the time to get the fuck over himself.”

“You don’t know that!” Bucky snaps unexpectedly, raising his head to glare at her. But then he drops it to the pillow again and tears sting his eyes as he mumbles, “He won’t come back. It’s all my fault. He hates me. He never really loved me in the first place. He won’t come back.”

Becca barks out a laugh, popping a hip and crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s all your fault?” she asks, already knowing what his answer will be. “His mom being _sick_? His mom _dying_? Are you fucking _kidding me_ Jamie?”

“I should have asked!” he snaps, still wallowing in his pillow. “I should have asked sooner! I should have gotten her the cure! I should have-“

“Shut _up_!” Becca shouts, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up in frustration as she starts to pace. “Just shut up! For the love of- Buck! You couldn’t have known, okay? And no matter what, you can’t change it now.” Her expression softens as she sits on the edge of his bed, her voice quieter now. “He loves you Bucky. He’ll come back. I promise. Now please just fucking shower and turn on some goddamn TV or something.” She ruffles his hair and kisses his forehead before getting up and leaving the room before he can argue any more.

Bucky sighs heavily, staring at his hand in front of his face, at the ring with its little moon and the diamond glinting there in the evening sun. Maybe she’s right, he thinks. Maybe still _will_ forgive him. He doesn’t really feel any better, but he at least manages the strength to drag himself out of bed and go take that shower.

 

*

 

[ **Nat:** Put some clothes on]

[ **Nat:** Like, right now!]

[ **Nat:** Like, really fast!]

[ **Nat:** Preferably something nice]

[ **Nat:** There’s a suitor here to see you. They’re waiting in the library]

[ **Nat:** Hope you showered today!]

[ **Nat:** At least text me back so I know you’re getting ready]

Bucky narrows his eyes and grumbles at his phone. He knew this would start happening as soon as the news got around that his engagement had been called off. He’d have thought that getting dumped would make him less appealing, but no. His mother had warned him nobles had already started calling them, the vultures, asking for a sitting. And, frankly, he’s just surprised his father hadn’t started letting them come sooner.

[ **Bucky:** Tell them I said go away]

[ **Bucky:** No! Tell them I said fuck off!]

When he gets no response he keeps going.

[ **Bucky:** Tell them I’m in love with Steve and I always will be and I won’t entertain anyone else so they can just stop wasting their time]

[ **Bucky:** Tell them whatever you have to to make them leave]

He rolls over and tugs his blanket up to his chin, grumbling to himself about princes and kings and faking his death and running away. A couple minutes later the door is thrown open and familiar heels click impatient and unamused into his room. Bucky braces himself for it, but he still isn’t ready when the blanket is yanked off of him. He yelps and shivers and rolls over to glare up at an unimpressed Natasha.

“I am no your messenger James Barnes,” she says. He pushes himself up and crosses his arms over his chest, pouting and petulant as he has been a lot lately. She ignores him and goes on, “If you want them to leave, you go and tell them that yourself. Now get up, get dressed, brush your damn hair. Look nice, like a person again maybe, and go speak to another damn human being today. For fuck’s sake James.” And without another word she storms out of his room, slamming the door behind her as she goes.

Bucky glowers at the door after her for a long moment until his phone chimes next to his pillow.

[ **Nat:** Let’s go! Get dressed! Hurry up! Don’t keep them waiting!]

Bucky growls and huffs out a sigh before pushing himself to his feet reluctantly. He brushes hair that he hadn’t realized was starting to get so long (almost down to his waist by now), then throws on a pair of dark jeans a plain silk dress shirt that he doesn’t even bother to button as he heads down to the library.

Natasha meets him at the bottom of the stairs and rolls her eyes at him, though a smirk plays on her lips as she stops him. She manages to get half the buttons done up before Bucky starts batting at her hands and whines at her to stop fussing.

She raises her eyebrows at him, and crosses her arms over her chest. “Stop acting like a child,” she scolds him half-heartedly, then leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Well, go on then.”

Bucky gets out one last sigh before forcing a smile and pushing his way into the library. Except he barely gets two steps in before his body stops working and he freezes in place, his heart jumping up into throat as his stomach does flips.

The blond smiles at him, shy and scared and guilty and hopeful as he says, meekly, “Hey Buck.” The prince notices his necklace is around his throat and as he holds out a bouquet that looks like the night sky – blue peonies and white campanulas with a single moonflower – the ring on his finger catches the sun. Natasha’s little touch, he’s sure.

Bucky’s heart is racing, his thoughts are racing, emotions ebbing and flowing and swirling through him like river rapids – anger and fear and hope and joy and pain and relief all rushing through his veins along with the surge of adrenaline. No matter how much he wants to move – and he does want to – his feet just won’t do it. He can’t even force himself to speak. He’s sure he’s gawking, eyes wide and lips parted, but he doesn’t really care. He thinks he’s just lucky he’s still conscious, still standing.

“Say something Jamie,” Steve begs, his voice cracking, smile falling, panic starting to bleed in and replace the hope in his eyes. “Please, please say something.” He takes a step closer and offers the flowers again.

This time Bucky takes them, overwhelmed into a weird state of numbness. “I…” he starts, but can’t find the right words, can’t find any words at all. He shakes his head and tries to take a proper breath, but his chest is just so, so tight. His eyes are stuck on the flowers in his hand. “I don’t even… I can’t even… even think… of… of… What does this mean?” he asks finally, finally looking up. It’s been so long since he’s gazed into those summer sky eyes and he feels tears burn his own as he chokes back a sob.

Steve takes another step closer, then another, until he’s close enough to take Bucky’s free hand in his own. “My moon and my stars, my light in the dark,” he breathes, pressing a soft kiss to the other man’s knuckles. It sends a shiver down the prince’s spine. “I’m… _god_ I’m _so_ sorry.” He drops to his knees, Bucky’s hand still clutched in both of his, and presses his forehead to the other man’s knuckles. “I don’t deserve it,” he goes on. “I know I don’t. But do you think, maybe, you could find some way to forgive me? Some day? Do you think you could take me back?”

Steve glances up just briefly before pressing more kisses to his knuckles and then dropping his gaze again. “I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness, to earn your love back, to earn you _trust_ back. Please James, my moon, my love. This time without you have been unbearable. I love you, I need you. I can’t live without you. I’m so sorry I pushed you away. I’m so sorry I was so cruel. You were just trying to help and,” he sucks in a shuddering breath, “and I get so fucking hot-headed sometimes. I’m so sorry my moon, my stars. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s stomach lurches and his heart aches, but his body finally starts behaving again. He sets the flowers down gently and pulls the blond to his feet and into his arms. Tears start falling freely down his cheeks as he buries his face in the other man’s hair. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers, voice shaky. “I’ve missed you so much.”

 

*

 

The next few weeks pass by in a happy blur as they re-make all of the arrangements for the wedding and, in Steve’s case, for after. Bucky does insist on one change, though – that the ceremony itself be small and untelevised. It can be recorded, fine, he’ll agree to that. But none of the other nonsense. He doesn’t need any extra eyes on them. George reluctantly agrees.

Thankfully, all the arrangements are made easier by the fact that the planning for all of it had already been done for months. Steve signs the shop over to Sam, promising to still come work. At least until he can train an apprentice or two to take his place. He sells his house and moves his things into the palace. It breaks his heart a little to do so, but, as he reasons with himself over dinners and as they’re lying in bed, this is something he knew would happen eventually. He’ll be fine.

Bucky locks himself in the library and re-writes his vows at least three more times, and he’s pretty sure he catches Steve re-working his own at least one of those times. The old ones just don’t quite fit anymore. When he’s finally happy he reads them to everyone he knows – his mother, sisters, Clint, even Sam, who just grins and shakes his head and says, “You read way too much poetry dude.”

Then, before they know it, the day is upon them and Bucky’s heart is racing as he meets Steve at the doors leading back to the gardens. He already feels a knot forming in his throat and he swears at himself under his breath. He told himself he wouldn’t do this. At least not this early in the day.

“You look amazing,” he tells the blond, breathless, as he cups his cheeks in his hands. He can’t help it if maybe he sniffles a little.

Steve chuckles and reaches up, wiping away the single tear that rolls down the prince’s cheek. “So do you,” he says, pressing up to his toes to steal a quick kiss.

“Are you ready?” Bucky asks, brushing a thumb along his cheekbone gently before turning to look out over the small group of friends and family seated in the garden, waiting for them.

“Yeah,” Steve says with a quiet laugh, linking his arm with Bucky’s. “Let’s go, _your highness_ ,” he teases.

Bucky laughs and glances to the blond as he elbows him gently. “Watch it Stevie,” he teases back, “you’re about to be a ‘your highness’ in not too long here too.”

Bucky’s hands finally steady as he and Steve walk down the makeshift aisle they have set up, arm in arm. Becca and his mom are already getting weepy and even Natasha looks teary-eyed herself as they approach the officiant – Marta. Steve is grinning from ear to ear and Bucky is sure his smile matches as they face each other and their eyes meet.

“Beloved friends and family,” Marta starts, and they both look to her, “you have come here today to witness the joining of these two lives, and to share in their joy on this wondrous day.” Then she looks between Steve and Bucky, and she beams as they smile excitedly at her. “Please, Steven, James, hold hands and look into each other’s eyes.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and can’t help the quiet, nervous laugh that escapes his lips as he gazes into Steve’s eyes and holds out his left hand, palm up. Steve giggles and shakes his head a little, grasping his hand firmly.

Marta drapes a gold rope over their hands, then a silver one, then, as she starts weaving them together and around their clasped hands, she recites, “These are the hands of your best friend, young and strong and full of love for you, that are holding yours on your wedding day, as you promise to love each other today, tomorrow and forever. These are the hands that will work alongside yours, as together you build your future. These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, and with the slightest touch, will comfort you like no other.”

“These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind. These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes; tears of sorrow and tears of joy. These are the hands that will give you strength when you need it. And lastly, these are the hands that, even when wrinkled and aged, will still be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a touch.”

With the last line she knots the cords and takes a step back, still beaming. Bucky, teary-eyed and sniffling, holds out his right hand as he did with the left and Steve takes it firmly and holds it, just above their bound hands, as Marta goes on, “James and Steven, as your hands are bound together now, so your lives and spirits are joined in a union of love and trust. The bond of marriage is not formed by these cords, but rather by the vows you will make. For always you hold in your own hands the fate of this union. Above you are stars and below you is earth. Like the stars your love should be a constant source of light, and like the earth, a firm foundation from which to grow.”

“May these hands be blessed this day. May they always hold each other. May they have the strength to hang on during the storms of stress and the dark of disillusionment. May they remain tender and gentle as they nurture each other in their wondrous love. May they build a relationship founded in love, and rich in caring. May these hands be healer, protector, shelter, and guide for each other.”

Then she clasps her hands and addresses the small crowd, “Now, these two have written their own vows they would like to make on this day, in front of all of you.” Then she smiles and nods to Bucky.

“I guess I’m going first then,” he says with a nervous laugh. The prince takes a deep breath to steady himself and glances quickly around at their friends and family before meeting Steve’s eyes once again. “Steve, my love, my sun and sky, the light of my life, the man who smiles like sunshine,” he starts, and Steve swallows hard as his family coos from their seats, “there are no words to properly express how my heart beats for you. But I’m going to try anyway.” Quiet laughter ripples through the crowd and Bucky goes on, “It does - my heart - it beats for you, my lungs breathe for you. Through all your joys and victories, I will be there. Through all your sorrow and sickness and pain, I will be there. Loving you, supporting you, sharing with you _all_ that life brings.  I told you in a letter once that the day I met you was like seeing the sun for the first time when you’d only known darkness. I told you that _you_ are my sun, and I will fly – and fall – like Icarus for you, over and over again. I meant it then, and I mean it now. Until the day I die and beyond, I am yours.”

Steve sniffles once and laughs at himself. “I really didn’t think I’d cry today,” he mutters, trying to ease his nerves, then clears his throat and says, “James, my dearest, my moon and my stars, my light in the darkness, I love you. Those are words I never thought I’d say when we first met. I thought for sure I was just a game for you to play, some little rebellion or a phase. I told myself over and over not to be charmed by your smile or your flowers or your gifts. I tricked myself into believing they meant nothing to me. But my mom,” he gets choked up and pauses, clears his throat again as Bucky bends to press a kiss to the back of his hand. He gazes out to the small group as he goes on, “my mom, she had this.. this gift. It was like she could see straight into a person’s soul. And she said,” his eyes find Bucky’s again, “she said, ‘Steven, that boy is true.’ So I took a chance and I am _so_ glad I did. You never gave up on me, never. And for that I am yours, forever.”

And there’s not a single dry eye in the garden as Marta says, “James and Steven, on behalf of all those present, and by the strength of your own love, I pronounce you married. You may seal your vows with a kiss.” And they do.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, wow, holy crap. This one was way out of my comfort zone! Thank you all soso much for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed it! If anyone is curious about the necklaces or the rings I describe for the boys, they're based on actual jewelry and I would be more than happy to post pictures in the comments or something!
> 
> That being said, kudos, comments, and all that jazz all mean sosososososo much to me. I put my heart, blood, sweat, and, yes, tears into this thing, so it's always great to know you guys enjoyed it :)
> 
>  _And_ , as always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://worrisomeme.tumblr.com) ^_^ I'm always taking requests/prompts/etc. Hope to see you there!<3


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